Foundations for Hope
by Turnip the Scribe
Summary: A prophetess with a plan to free her world, even if she will never see it completed. A mercenary with nothing better to do. A survivor who knows the harsh lands they must travel. And last but not least, the poet who recorded it all.
1. Prologue: The World Has Ended

**Foundations for Hope**

**Prologue  
**

_The world has ended._

_A thousand tongues _

_Are screaming at our plight_

_A thousand lives have ended_

_And their spirits sing lament_

_Oh, the night was calm and bright_

_On that, our world's last hour._

_A glint in the sky like a star belied_

_That which, in truth, was our doom._

_A creature of stone and fire and hate_

_Set the sky itself aflame._

_Cleaving asunder that sacred stone_

_Our Keeper of Memories usurped from her throne,_

_The Great Crystal shattered_

_To the horizon its fragments were thrown_

_Our Lady of Light was lost to us._

_All was lost, with nary the glow_

_Of the Crystal's Memories to guide us on_

_What was once a mountain proud and clean_

_Became a pit, a chasm that lead to hells_

_That no mortal dare to know._

_We who survived fled eastward_

_To havens we hoped had survived_

_What choice had we?_

_For from the gaping wound in the earth_

_A wound so cursed it would never heal_

_Poison flowed, like fog from the sea_

_Bringing death to all it touched._

_We prayed the wind would sweep it away_

_But the foul mist was carried on its breath_

_We cannot outrun this Miasma forever_

_Yet onward we ran, we few who remember_

_Yet soon, we too will be lost._

_My memories here are recorded on paper_

_For that is my trade and my art._

_The Great Crystal is gone_

_And our memories fade with it_

_All but this poem_

_And I pray it survives._

_For the world has ended_

_And from its death was born a demon._

_-_** Terrand the Poet**


	2. Chapter 1: The Prophetess Dreams

** Author's Note: **Hello, and thanks for reading! This is a story that's been banging around in my head for a while, and it finally managed to escape. I guess it stemmed from my interest in the era of when the Meteor crashed, and my shock that there aren't that many stories set during that time at all. Most CC stories seem to be set during the time in the game, which _is_ an interesting setting, true. But it's been described and explained by many people in many ways already, and I feel that the time of the Meteor would like some more love, too. xD

There are a lot of unexplained things in the game, which just drive me crazy. When do various historical events fall chronologically? Especially the Liltian Empire: did they take over before or after miasma? I say before, but it's based on reason rather than proof. How could they build an army and go around conquering most of the world if they were limited to tiny bubbles of life? I just can't see it working too well. Also, the mystery that I'm addressing here in this story, which I shan't explain my opinions of yet. :)

Bear in mind, please: this story has not been beta read. So, critique would be loved. It is also the first story I've published and cared about. I've done a couple of farces on various sites for various subjects, but nothing worth noting. I know this first chapter is a little wordy, but that's just because of the POV. The main character is a fully mature Yuke matron, and she probably reads the dictionary for fun. And she seems to have a grudge against contractions. When the other characters steal the camera, I hope it'll be better. I hope it'll be better in general, because like I said, it hasn't been beta'd and...well, I just hope it doesn't suck, and any bit of concrit is appreciated. As lovely and fluffy and pleasing reviews such as "I love it, write more" are, they don't actually help and they tend to make me feel flustered and embarrassed because I don't always love what I write and I'm not sure continuing is the best option, truthfully.

Gah, now I sound like a little hermit artist. Yeesh, I'll try to work on growing some spine, too. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Chapter One**

**The Prophetess Dreams  
**

I have been called many things. A wise woman, a powerful and capable mage, beautiful, kind, graceful and gracious. I have been called crazy, aloof, heartless, and insensitive. I have been addressed by my many titles: Sky Reader, Crystal Seer, Prophetess, member of the High Council of Shella, my beloved, mother.

Some, however, choose to call me by my given name, which is Aurantha.

I have lived a long life, but I believe I have a good few decades ahead of me before I feel age's grasp. Certainly, being a Yuke has its advantages in this respect, as even if I were at the end of my life, none could see my wrinkles for my mask. Of course that is not its purpose, but a woman cannot deny the pleasure of having a legitimate excuse for hiding her age. After all, to be a Yuke is to have the shame of vanity, hidden so far within no one may ever know.

Within that lifespan, the exact number I shall not say, though it is over a century, I have lived life fully, I believe. I have visited many places, done many things. I have studied magic in many forms; magicite, the balance of energy and matter, illusions, enchantments, alchemy, and of course prophecy. I have dabbled in philosophy and politics, I have taught and I have learned, and I am both a wife and a mother.

Most Yukes would consider this an exemplary life, one that many strive for. I have reached the top tiers of the magical community, and as a member of the High Council of Shella I have no small status.

Certainly, I myself have no qualms with my life thus far. I am as content as one can be in my past.

It is the future that frightens me. As one who may glimpse at what is to come, I believe I have more reason than most to fear it. While the most terrifying thing for most people can be boiled down to the unknown, the possibilities, the abstract, what I fear is something very concrete.

Now, the future is malleable, that is true. And divining the future is an art, not a science. It is like...hm. Many people have described the nature of prophecy. I have never attempted to put the feeling, the truths and untruths, to words, so excuse me if I find this to be a challenge. One such description likened the art of future-sight to be like looking at a fractured mirror– every crack stems from the first break, and branch out from there, until a hundred tiny cracks have formed from a single beginning. A seen future is only one tiny crack, and who knows that that particular path is the possibility that will happen out of all the lines on the glass? It is not completely inaccurate, and if it helps you to understand, then it has served its purpose well. But the truth is more complicated yet.

You must understand, cracks on glass are, shall we say, stable. Once cracked, the glass is as it is – it will not change unless repaired or broken further. However, it is not so for existence. Each and every moment changes the entire glass, as it were. Cracks are constantly being made or being removed. A person sits, a person stands. Two possibilities. One causes grief, the other joy. One happens, one does not. There can not be both at once, and even as one happens the other ceases to be a possibility. Try to follow the path of a string as it floats in moving water, among thousands of other such strings. Some strings unravel, others combine, others are washed away entirely. That is time. Reading such a string is very difficult, as it is unraveling and combining and changing constantly. Rather than seeing one possibility out of many, what is seen is the definite future as of the current moment. It may be rendered completely wrong due to choices in between the prediction and the foreseen time. But it would have been, had something not changed. If the world was entirely stable, the future would be predicted perfectly every time. As it is, we live in a world based on chaos and life, and both require change almost constantly.

Which why I have been checking and double checking a vision of mine for the past fortnight. I have not told anyone of this vision, for it terrifies me so. Every night as I retire, I fervently pray that some unknown variable will have changed the outcome, that this future will not come to pass. Every night it remains the same.

I cannot shake this feeling from my bones. This thing that is coming cannot be changed by the tiny variables of we mortals. If a man turns left or right, either way this future comes. If I choose for a snack a bunch of rainbow grapes or a striped apple, either way this future comes. Our tiny changes do nothing to alter this future.

Never before have I felt so helpless and small. In the end, all my powers are useless but to watch and warn, and pray I look a fool for causing such needless terror. I would rather face all the ridicule in the world than see this future come to pass.

It would be irresponsible of me to not bring this to the attention of the rest of the High Council. I have delayed long enough. I must not let my terror interfere with the well being of Shella...no, of the world.

Tomorrow, then, I shall inform them of my visions. Tomorrow, if tonight has not brought me the peace I so desire.

I am barely aware of the feel of my bed or the soft breathing of my husband beside me before I sink slowly and deeply into dreaming.

_ There is something very important I have to do. I know this with every fiber of my being. There is more at stake than my life, than the lives of those I love. The fate of every living soul on this planet for every generation to come may lie in the balance._

Your memories glow like coals...gentle, yet steady. So warm and peaceful...I'm afraid they are not strong enough. They glow when they must burn, blaze so bright that none may touch them for fear of being turned to ash...

_ It comes. I feel it in my bones. Oh, it will be upon us any day now. Could tomorrow be that fateful dawn? No...it is not dawn; there is no sun in the sky. The sky has turned red from the cursed object that means to kill us all, not from the gentle light of a new day being born. Midnight, for now I see the moon is full and gazing down, like a terrible judge who has deemed us unworthy. Its light, once silver, reflects now only the harsh bloody hues of our doom._

Someday, I hope to meet someone with memories so bright. Perhaps that person shall be the one who can defeat him.

_ We are running, all of us running. I have warned those who dwell by the sacred mountain, and we run. The Great Crystal is gone. Our hopes and dreams of the past are gone. We have only the path before us, and we are terrified. I look back and see fires and smoke, twisted, melted pieces of rock that have taken shapes that look cruel and deadly. Pouring from the heart of the catastrophe... a purple smear, indistinct and amorphous, I _know_ this substance will kill us. We must never be touched by it, for it corrupts. It will mar any skin it touches. We must never breathe it in, or we will die. It will burn our lungs from the inside out, its poison is searing and lethal. I do not question this knowledge. _

Lady whose memories are full of warmth and laughter...you know what you must do. Pave the way for the future, a future who is free of this curse...there is hope.

_I feel something cool and hard in my hand. A small crystal, one of two from my helmet...I hold it up, and I feel safety in its gentle light. We run, and we dare not look behind us.  
_

Set the signposts. Lead the way. If a happy future is to ever happen, you must act!

_Yes...crystals. The crystals are the key, as they have always been...but to what? I must find them...__their flickering light, reflecting so many places I must go. I see a vast, flat plain, shimmering with heat and sparkling beneath a sun hotter than any I have known. The horizon is only broken by harsh, craggy cliffs. Everything is so bleached by the sun, it is hard to remember what water feels like...__Water, flowing endlessly, forming pool after clear, cold pool...rainbows dancing in the mist, fountains formed by neither pump nor spring...I have never been here, but I gaze at it all and whisper, _"Home."

Lady, you must wake now. Wake and warn your world.

_The crystals are dying, and we are dying with them. They grow dimmer and dimmer, and we know but despair. Despair, a land hollow and lifeless...the soil is gray and the rock is black. All is shadow and nothing is untouched by taint. Something lies here. Something horrible. I know where I must go.  
_

The time is approaching quickly. Your people need you.

_I know what I must do._

I awoke with a gasp, panting heavily as if my lungs had shrunk several sizes. Images, beautiful and horrifying, were running through my mind as I tried to remember each and every detail of my dream. I could only recall fragments, but oh, the fragments that they were. It is coming, and we cannot stop it. It will spread poison. I must shepherd those who live in the City of the Crystal away to safety. I must warn everyone, we must all take shelter. I must...there is something else.

Frowning, I tried with all my might to latch on to the quickly fading dream. The last part of my quest...my final and most important calling. All that remained were a few vague, unhelpful memories of places I have never been. I did not know where they are, but I knew that I must journey there. Those meager few memories were weighted with such a heavy sense of duty. There was something, _something_ I must do for the sake of...what?

_A happy future...?_

As I wearily shook the sleep from my eyes, I tried not to acknowledge the fact that this dream was more real than all my past visions combined.

I stole one last glance at the gently snoring lump still in bed as I quickly dressed in my finest robes and polished helm. I hoped fervently that he, at least, would have nothing but the sweetest of dreams. I envied and was grateful for his peace. If anything is to happen, I shall die with a smile beneath my mask if I could just know that he and our children were safe.

"Valeraundey, I shall do all I can to ensure my safe and timely return," I whispered, both glad and disheartened that his only reply was to shift slightly.

I granted myself the luxury of gazing a bit longer before I straightened my back, lifted my head, and walked out the door. I dressed according to my status on only the rarest occasions, but I knew that I would have to look my most intimidating to fully impress upon the minds of my peers the gravity of my vision.

Judging by the stares of those on the street, I succeeded: at the moment, I was not Aurantha, wife and mother. I was The Prophetess of Shella, at her best. A long, sweeping robe colored like wine, tied with a white cord, my helmet gleaming gold to match my light honey fur stripes, and a deep purple veil of silk that draped over the back of my mask and fell to the tips of my fingers. My wings were neatly groomed, pearly white and brown feathers looking their brightest, and I carried myself like a queen, for all that I felt like I was no more than a laborer carrying a particularly heavy and cumbersome stone.

There was silence in the Council Hall as I entered and called for an emergency meeting.

They knew that I would not do such a thing except for the most dire of circumstances. They were right. With a heavy heart, I told them all I could.


	3. Chapter 2: The Red Spear

Hey, there. Thanks for the reviews! I know I haven't done much on the story yet, so two at this stage is awesome! I edited chapter one a bit. I hope the rest of the story is a little less obvious now...mysterious dream sequences are hard. Is it too obscure? Not obscure enough? Too spoilery? Pffh...

This chapter was a bit easier because this guy doesn't do any of that prescient nonsense. He's more of a stab-it-till-it-dies sort of guy. Takes all sorts.

This story now as a total of four named people in two whole chapters and the prologue. Only three of them are going to be main characters, at least to my knowledge. (I seriously need to get on with this exposition junk, huh? I'm trying!) The other one may manage to worm his way into a more prominent role...probably not. But characters do things like that if you don't keep their spirit's down.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**The Red Spear  
**

"What a _joke_."

Those happy words were punctuated by the sound of a glass being unceremoniously banged on a counter. It had little effect on the hard, old wood, which had most definitely seen far worse in its time. For all of the harshness of the speaker's voice and the even harsher strength behind the gesture, it hadn't even managed to spill any of its contents – quite possibly because there were only dregs left in the pint.

The room was, perhaps, typical of a small-town bar, at least around those parts. He couldn't remember the name, even if he wasn't on the way to loosing his sobriety. It was dim to the point of dark in some areas, with a downright unfriendly feel among the sullen, brooding shadows where he sat. In others, such as by the roaring fire, it was lively and bright and warm. It was a place of food and drink – well, mostly the drink. There were quite a few decorations on the walls, homely, hand-made crafts and carved objects, posters displaying town events and news, the stuffed head of a fairly good sized creature with quite a lot of fur, and a large, hand painted menu by the bar. The aromas of good, savory food, locally brewed beverages, and hot, rowdy people thickened the air. A good way to describe it, overall, would be the typical quaint tavern and inn.

Quaint was, in fact, a fairly applicable term to the entire town.

He hated every inch of it.

The gently rolling hills, the ever – happy looking farming Clavats tilling the rich, dark soil, the gentle giggles of the creek that cut through the village, the children laughing and screaming with joy as they waded through the shallow waters, mothers greeting their families with warm dinners and embraces, the gentle glow of their windows at night...it was domestic bliss in a quaint little village package. A little slice of utopia, a place to live in peace and happiness.

And he was just a visitor passing through, on business. Business that had nothing to do with happy families or simple lives. He had no smiling wife, or laughing children. He had no cozy home with a welcoming hearth. He had no simple, happy, comfortable life of safety and surety. Little reminders surrounded him, forcing him to acknowledge the fact that the sort of quiet life he so longed for was right in front of him, and he couldn't have it. He wasn't made for this sort of life, no matter how sweet it seemed.

He was a soldier. A soldier in an army that had seen better days – better days centuries ago, at least. Much like what was left in his cup, he was part of what remained of the proud army of Alfitaria, heart of the Liltian Empire. Dregs of what was once the greatest army the world had ever known, an empire that had brought most of the known world to its knees, a force that very nearly succeeded in total conquest.

_'Oh, how the mighty hath fallen,' _he thought bitterly, snorting.

In those days, a soldier of his skill and experience would be allowed to retire. He would be awarded titles and honors. He would be granted money and land, for a high ranking soldier was practically nobility to the proud warrior race. He would find himself a good wife and raise a family and teach his children all he knew of the art of battle.

But now? Now, despite his many years of loyalty, despite his prowess with weapons of all sorts, despite the small fame and glory he had earned to his name, in spite of it all, he couldn't even get a decent promotion, let alone retire. How could he get a promotion in an army that had survived this long on little more than pride for its former glory? Trying to pretend that they still had the power they once did?

"It's over. Done. Let us get on with our damned lives already!" he growled to no one in particular.

Several people looked up from their merriment and stared at his corner warily. The strange Lilty had been here for only a few days, but many in town already wished he'd leave. He reeked of military, however weak that military may be, and he was usually in a foul mood. Whenever he wasn't in the bar, the favorite pastime was to gossip and discuss the mysterious, bitter stranger. So far, he hadn't actually done anything, but several villagers swore he was dangerous and up to no good. The fact that he hardly ever said a word to anyone, preferring to talk via glare, didn't help his case much. And he had the habit of killing evenings with alcohol, never getting drunk, certainly, but it was worrisome all the same. Especially when he started glowering and muttering angry, sometimes even violent, non sequiters that no one understood. Most agreed that it was perhaps best if they didn't understand.

_'Wasting away under the colors of a Royal Family that doesn't even have any real power anymore. An army of...of peacocks, that's what! Always strutting away, trying so hard to make everyone believe we're as strong as we act! All the while, the reality is that we've sunk so low that they've got soldiers as delivery boys, commanders on active duty, greenhorn recruits on patrols because we don't have any trained soldiers available...'_

And he couldn't even quit, because however paltry the sum of gil paid to him was, it was the only thing standing between him and poverty. He had to sell his father's cottage, what should've been his home, just to fix all that he had left of his inheritance: a full suit of armor and his ancestral weapon, passed through generations of soldiers. But what good was a house to him, when he was being sent all over the place?

He hadn't even set foot there in over a year, and he _needed_ his equipment to stay alive.

He had to have his equipment. A soldier with no armor didn't last long, and a soldier with no weapon didn't last at all. And his fame, though perhaps small, was enough to gain some attention, the sort the army needed. The kind that paid. And so he was one of the many soldiers that were simply hired out for protection. Some were personal body guards, some patrolled towns and cities. The proud Liltian army: reduced to a bunch of mercenaries, all for some gil and some glory.

He snorted again. Glory? What glory was there in having your contract passed about like a common sword for hire? There were some that thought telling a contractor that their new bodyguard was a proudly trained in the Liltian army was the highest boast. What did that even mean to anyone, anymore? The only ones worth boasting about in the army, the only ones doing their time honored job, were the soldiers of the Royal guard! They never sold themselves like this!

No, there was no glory in being an over glorified mercenary.

***

"Didn't you hear?"

"No, no, I don't believe it."

"Can't be him; it's just a coincidence."

"Who?"

"They say he's the Red Spear."

"Red Spear? Never heard of it..."

"Oh, come on! I don't even think that's a real story."

"Besides, that guy's just some grumpy soldier. He doesn't look like story material."

"I suppose it's not true, then. But it's funny to think about."

"I hate being out of the loop. The Red Spear?"

"Supposedly the Red Spear bravely fought a nest of wyverns and lived to tell the tale."

"I heard he slew a Dragon..."

"Don't be silly!"

"And he's supposed to be here? Now?"

"Oh, it's just another one of those tall tales, then."

"No way it's him."

"Who'se supposed to be him?"

"That Lilty over there. The weird one, never talks to anybody. Don't know why he's in town. What's his name again?"

"The soldier? He checked in under the surname...Ruad? Yeah. Geirr Ruad."


	4. Chapter 3: The Survivor's Diary

A/N: Character number three, would you please step forward? Here we have The Selkie. Yeah, I'm going for one of each. The Clavat has to wait his turn, I guess. I may not update quite as quickly, because school just started up. Being a senior seems to be much like being a junior, only they expect more out of you. Eh.

I may or may not have taken some liberties with the timeline here, just like before with the Liltian army. Did these things happen before or after the meteor? Sources are varied and none of them have substantial proof either way. The game never says, to my endless frustration. Perhaps it did and I missed something. Oh, well.

Hope you enjoy chapter three! When I've finished with The Clavat's chapter, I may just post a link to pictures I've drawn of them. Can you believe I've spent hours and hours of character study trying to get every detail of their appearance meticulously straightened out, only to have barely any actual verbal description of their looks in the story? ...In fact, I think I've only mentioned what The Yuke looked like, and I devoted very little time or effort on it at that. Oh, well. Sometimes it's better that way; you get your own mental description and all that. I mostly drew them out the obsessive need to plot out their every physical detail, despite the fact that I didn't make use of it. ...I have a lot of obsessive habits like that.

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Three:**

**The Survivor's Diary  
**

_You know how it is? When something starts off all fine 'n sunny? Yeah, thought you might. We get all caught up in how great everthing is, an' then we drop our guard. Even people like us. I should've known better. We all should've. Life never gives nothing away for free. 'Specially to Selkies. That's why we got to take what we need. _ _But s'nice to believe that maybe, just maybe miracles happen, you know? So there we all were, believing so hard that we got ourselves a miracle that we forgot to believe in reality. We all wanted it so bad, we..._ _We lost our edge a little, I guess. Weren't so wary and suspicious all the time, like we need to be. Like a wolf, givin' a free bone the eye, unwilling to touch it even if it means an easy meal. By the time we got to our senses..._

She paused, looking at the faded parchment before her. Why she had gotten the urge to write this story down was a mystery. It wasn't something she liked to dwell on. It certainly wasn't something anyone else would like to read. All she knew was that she felt like writing it down, and so she obtained for herself a small, blank book and a writing stick. (He wouldn't miss them, she was sure.) Perhaps it was instinct. She was good at following her instincts. She knew better than to ignore a gut feeling. The Selkie woman had ignored her instincts once, and she would make sure that she would never do so again. She continued to jot things down, bits and pieces, as the memories and words started gushing out.

_"To those who follow: We shall build a road. Let these stones guide you to our new haven."_

A young woman, barely out of her teens, watched in awe as the stonesmith finished his handiwork. The crowd applauded, and camp was made in that spot for the evening. This was their first night here, in their new home.

The smell of water was heavy in the air, she recalled. That and woodsmoke, from the campfires. Happy melodies were accompanied by dance. They played tonight, for tomorrow they would begin to build...

"Izha Lul," her mother had said to her, "Izha Lul, go scout for other dry areas to build tents."

So she had, leaving her family and friends behind, taking a small lantern to guide her footing among the slippery reeds.

It was not quiet, she remembered. The noise of crickets and cicadas was made even louder by the still waters and thick mist, echoing and distorting every sound. Toads croaked, and strange birds called. Every so often, there would be a little splash, as some small creature or rock fell into the water. Her footsteps, light and stealthy though she was, were loud squelches and pops from the wet mud and grass. Everything was tinged gray and green....

Everything but the yellow glow of her little oil lamp, which she held like a shield.

Everything but the yellow glow of her little oil lamp, and the blood tinged ground where the bones of a medium sized creature lay half-hidden from the reeds, that is.

_I know I should've told them the whole story. But I was putting so much hope into this, just like everyone else, I....I didn't want to admit that maybe our hopes weren't placed too well. So I told 'em about the bones, but I didn't mention how fresh they were. And I sure as hell didn't mention the weird shadow shapes in the water. Figured my eyes just played a trick on me...that water was murky, after all, could've been a mistake, s'nothing. It was something,though, something bad. _

The guilt never left her over the years. She knew it never would.

_"To those who follow: Our new haven is not far. Press onward with faith!"_

So they figured there was some potentially dangerous predator about, but it didn't slow down the intrepid group. After all, there were dangers no matter where you were. They knew when they started this journey that they were heading into uncharted territory, and so wild animals were nothing unexpected at all.

Besides, the bridges were coming along splendidly. There was already a semblance of a small, temporary town, with wood plants for roads and little huts on stilts. There was plenty of fish, and plenty of room. They continued, wanting to see what lay beyond this swamp. Somewhere beyond here, they felt in their hearts, was the perfect land for them. A place they could call home, where they wouldn't have to steal to survive.

Every so often, they would leave a marker behind, to tell others of the journey they were making. If anyone would seek to join them in their haven, they would be able to.

No one thought anything of the strange noises heard at night near the water's edge.

Not until the first mangled body was discovered. Her uncle was no more.

Grim, they started a nightly watch. But they continued, for the land they were searching for couldn't be far off now.

No one who ventured too far from camp was seen again. Soon, they avoided the water as much as possible. It wasn't possible, much, though, considering there was water everywhere.

They were fueled by panic as much as hope, now.

_I think it was around then that I knew we'd never make it. If anyone thought that but me, no one said nothing about it. We were all smiles 'round each other. Trying to keep each other's hopes, I guess. Not much of a point, when people kept dying. _

'Bunch of idiots...' she thought to herself. 'We should've ran.'

_"To those who follow: We have lost many of our own. Be ever vigilant as you advance."_

They left a warning, so that anyone else who wandered here might be on guard. They had lost nearly half their starting number. Still they continued. Was it because they still had hope, or did they feel they had no other choice? Did their minds scream to turn around, yet their feet trudge forward?

Soon, no one left the central campsite at night. They stayed in one group, hoping that would protect them from their unseen foe.

They kept building the bridges, laying plank after plank. Perhaps they would eventually become a road to the Selkie's paradise? Perhaps eventually this will all seem a nightmare, to be forgotten once the sun has risen?

There were few attacks for a time. Hope swelled again. They found larger and large islands. They hoped they were reaching the end of this never ending quagmire.

With renewed vigor, the stonesmith carved another message.

It was his last.

_We had only a handful of us left alive at that point. It was so quiet, 'cause it always hurts worse when you thought you were gonna make it. Our second surge of hope didn't last long. Neither did we._

She simply stared at what she had written for a while. Her eyes were dry and her expression was blank. There was no more grief for the past. She had no energy to spend on tears.

_"To those who follow: A haven where the Selkies can dwell in freedom lies ahead in the distance."_

And so, eventually one was left. One who found she could walk no further. One who knew she could not build alone.

She salvaged what she could of their supplies. What was left of their food, money and valuables she took, without guilt or hesitation. She did believe she would escape, but she couldn't go forward. There was nothing for her forward. There was no haven to be found here. Perhaps someday, somewhere, her people would find a home.

Tools. The stonesmith's tools were left. He did not have them on him when he died.

Somehow it only seemed appropriate to leave one last message. She had not his skill with stone, but she managed to scratch her words on the rock somehow.

She turned, following the road they had built, and left the cursed swamp of Conall Curach behind her. No monster bothered her on her way.

_"To those who follow: I am the only one left. I can build the road no more. To those who follow: Be steadfast in your path. Find a place we Selkies can call our own!"_


	5. Chapter 4: The Poet's Distress

**Author's Note: **Hey, welcome! Chapter four! Wow, I'm sort of impressed that I actually managed to update again. And here we have The Poet, at long last! This chapter is a little on the short side, but that's probably just because his past isn't nearly as interesting as the others, so he doesn't get nearly as introspective about it. Yeah, he's got the most normal background of the lot of them.

This has nothing to do with the fact that I think Clavats tend to be boring. (Except the fact that they are...) My favorites, as I've mentioned, are the Yukes, with my second favorite tribe being the Lilties. Selkies and Clavats sort of tie in last. Clavats just usually aren't that entertaining. Selkies are much more interesting, but they're so frequently used, and everyone seems to prefer them, which automatically makes me like them less. I tend to dislike the popular choice... Besides, for all their shiny, awesome hair and endearingly roguish ways, as a generously proportioned woman, it makes me extremely jealous that they can flounce about in a _tube top bra_ and not have problems. It's sickening.

I know I said I'd try to post a link to a picture of them, but...I haven't finished it. Yeah. I'll try to have it up soon. I can get a lot of drawing done during Economics class. Oh, and yes, I did just make up that poem on the bottom. I love poetry.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**The Poet's Distress  
**

"_Never_ again!"

The moaning originated from a rather willowy gentlemen as he fell to the ground, seemingly without the energy to continue standing. With a sigh, he tried to make himself comfortable beneath a shady tree. His forlorn gaze, dusty clothing and frequent heartfelt sighs gave him the air of a wounded saint, abandoned and alone in the world.

In reality he was just a little on the melodramatic side, and had only been traveling for about a day and a half, despite the fact that the pain in his feet made him feel as if it had been a week. If he was more of a traveler, the man would have realized that his shoes, while fashionable and practical for most things, were not meant for walking between cities. In that respect, he mused, he and his shoes were quite well suited.

The somewhat mousy looking Clavat was clearly someone who prefered to gaze at nature, rather than experience it firsthand. He traveled between cities and towns often, true, but always in a group, and always with some sort of transport. His skin was not that of a farming Clavat, and he was sure the tingling sensation on his face was a forming sunburn, not a tan. The callouses on his fingers were that of a writer, not a worker. And the blisters he had gotten after only a morning's hike reminded him with every step that this was not one of his better ideas. That was saying something, as he was known for having some fairly silly ideas.

It was his lot in life, though, to have the soul of a dreamer. He was simply an idea man by nature, and if those ideas often ended up being well outside the realm of reality, at least they made for entertaining memories.

At least, until he decided it would be a grand idea to _walk_ to Shella from Riverford. The trip looked quite short on the map, and his rucksack seemed hardly a burden at first. It wasn't long before he realized that a few days of walking on the road seemed a lot longer than a few days spent in a nice, comfy inn. And it was shortly after that when the supply of food, clothing and of course his books and pencils became increasingly heavy.

_'Beautiful scenery will be so inspirational! Walking will leave you open to experience nature, unfettered by people or papaopamuses! The exercise will stimulate your writing! It will be an adventure!' _he thought bitterly to himself, slumping against the tree as he cursed his earlier thoughts.

Sighing once more, he grabbed his bag and grabbed a thick, hand carved pencil, and started rooting around for a blank book. He had bought it only yesterday, right before he left, new and bound in soft leather, full of good parchment just itching to be written on. It was simple but charming, and he couldn't resist buying it, realizing that it would be perfect to use for the journey ahead of him. Just because the journey was turning out to be a disappointment didn't mean he couldn't try and write some new verses. It really was a lovely day, after all, and if nothing else he could weave a poem about sweat, heat, and his poor aching feet.

_'Hm,' _ he thought, searching his bag more intently now that the familiar feeling of inspiration had hit him, '_That's not a bad start, actually. Sharp sweat, cruel heat, my sore blistered feet...'_

After a minute of searching, he frowned. It should have been near the top, as he had just bought and packed it yesterday. With just a touch of worry, he began removing items from the bag. When it was empty, he stared at the pile of items on the ground, unable to comprehend the fact that that little charming book was not there. It had been there yesterday when he left. He had never taken it out on the road. When he had a dinner of dried fruits and a slice of bread last night, he had seen it tucked right where he left it. But in the light of morning, it had disappeared.

Along with striped apple, the only fresh bit of fruit he brought with him. He had been planning to eat that with lunch.

Robbed. He had been _robbed._ In the middle of the night, out here in the middle of nowhere!

With a sound that couldn't quite decide whether it was a yell or a snarl, he stood and kicked the tree, much to the dismay of his already pained foot.

The townspeople had _assured_ him that the outlying areas were almost never frequented by bandits or thieves. They were a nice, quiet little town, they told him. No crooks, just simple farming folk. Nothing to attract rogues around these parts, unless they fancy wheat and corn! Heck, the only Selkie in town was ancient and had no family.

And while yes, he might have been traveling alone, and had fallen asleep at the side of the road, undefended and unaware, but he was a poet! An artist! Hardly the sort of person who would be a worthwhile target for any self respecting bandit – he had barely any free gil, most of which he had spent on that book. Which he no longer had.

Groaning, he held his head in his hands. He couldn't turn back, he'd be the laughingstock of Riverford. One night in the journey and he already managed to fall prey!

Terrand clenched his teeth and grabbed his bag. He no longer felt the need to rest. In fact, he was filled with an energy that swept away the previous traces of exhaustion. Whether it was a form of revenge or hurt pride that fueled him, he couldn't tell. He didn't really believe he'd find the culprit, no matter how quickly he walked, but it wasn't really a matter of trying to prove that he could, in fact, make the journey by himself, either.

Perhaps he was just being melodramatic again, letting himself be driven by his emotions without really tying them them to reality. After all, he was a poet.

_Of all the pain of aching feet_

_Of straining back, relentless heat,_

_Though blisters cruel did cause me grief,_

_The worst was that caused by a thief._

_Oh, what use have you for a wordless book?_

_With what its pages shall you fill? _

_What reason have you that you took_

_What you could buy for 40 gil?_

_Spare a poet from his sorrow_

_I pray these words somehow find your ears_

_For when my muse calls on me tomorrow_

_I'll have no paper to write on or dry my tears!_


	6. Chapter 5: Cross Sections

**Author's Note:** Holy crap I'm not dead. Wow. Um. Hi, everybody. I know that probably everyone's forgotten about this by now, and I'm sorry! I've been really busy! I should've stated that I was going on a writing haitus! I beg for forgiveness, and humbly submit another chapter as proof of my intent to not abandon this story.

So, here we've got a chapter with multiple points of view. The second and third should be fairly obvious, but do you know who the first one is? Ahaha...yeah, not a huge secret.

I also promised that I'd upload a group picture of the main characters. Well, here it is. Might not be the best, but it is what it is. I just like drawing my characters a lot, and also I know I tend to forget to actually describe what they look like. So I guess a visual helps to cover up my verbal inadequacies or something. Can you spy with your little eye what needs to be changed to make it a link?

http**COLON**//i14**DOT**photobucket**DOT**com/albums/a313/prettyponyofdoom/FoundationsofHope**DOT**png

* * *

There was little discussion. There was little doubt about the accuracy of her powers, less over her mental stability, and there was no doubt whatsoever about her moral character.

No, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the Prophetess was simply wrong, not when she had seen this vision so many times, nor could she be crazy, not with the quiet intelligence and strength she exuded. There was nothing that a scoundrel could gain by such a story, and besides, had she not proven her honesty and compassion over her lengthy number of years?

If they could trust anyone in this troubled hour, it was she. She who remained calm as she spoke of the world ending, she who already started planning ways to save them all. Aurantha had always been a highly respected and cherished pillar of the community; they could not afford to doubt her now more than ever.

I had never doubted her from the start. I think I knew it would come to this ages ago; though she never spoke of it come morning she had terrors during the night. If she were any other woman, these could be nothing more than simple nightmares, but I knew better, I think. I also knew better than to ask, even while she bore signs of worry and exhaustion on her face, that face that only I would ever see. She would tell me when she was ready, when she was certain. She would tell us all. Until then, I knew she would hold her nightmares in, and pray that the next night was the one where they would change into something docile.

She packed lightly, dressed practically, and left a scant few days after giving her declaration. That dawn she left, armed with only one well-stuffed pack and her long staff. That and, unbeknownst to most, a finely crafted silver locket that she kept under her robes at all times.

I made her that locket, and gave it to her on the day we were wed. I have one similar to it. It was she who performed the enchantment that bound the two, though. No matter the distance she travels, it will never feel as though she is more than a few feet away. It's not a sound, not even really a tactile sense, but...she is there, somewhere, and somehow. I never worry – well, of course that is not true, not really, but I worry less, as it feels like she might only be in the next room.

She bid farewell to the children and I, and to all of Shella. She asked us not to worry too much, saying that she would not travel alone for long. There were dangers traveling on the road, especially for a lone woman who clearly had both status and wealth. Though she was an able sorceress and famous in her own right, her reputation would not protect her from all predators and she could not cast spells as she slept. A guard, she said, was waiting for her in a city not too far from here. An escort to her destination of the Great Crystal, and in the mysterious journey afterward which she could neither explain nor deny.

I will wait for her. Though she explained to me the dangers she envisioned, the terrors that lay in the nebulous path set before her, I know she will return.

I know this because I know her.

I know this because I love her.

* * *

"Mr. Ruad?"

Grunt.

"Sir? Are you awake?"

_Grunt._

"...There's a letter for you, sir...I'll slip it under the door," the poor overworked maid said, before delivering the letter and leaving as quickly as possible.

None of the staff enjoyed having to talk to the grumpy Lilty in Room 3. Having to try and find a time to tidy his room was even worse, as he glowered at anyone who tried to enter while he was around. And what a glower it was!

He didn't even tip well!

The maid was simply relieved that he was in a quiet mood. He must not have been asleep, she figured, as he wasn't yelling that he had been woken up.

Said Lilty was actually polishing his prized heirloom, the spear that earned him his reputation due to its bright scarlet hue. It had been in his family for generations, passed down from soldier to soldier. His family crest – at one point, the Ruad line had been a minor noble house, though it fell with the Empire's dreams of world control – was engraved on its wide, flat head, which even had a coppery red tint due to traces of orichalcum in the alloy.

He continued to ignore the letter by the door for some time, until even he couldn't pretend any longer to find spots in need of polishing on the weapon. Sighing, he nearly ran a hand through his scruff of fuzz-like hair until he remembered that his hands were filthy with polish and dirt. He wiped off his hands on a clean – well, cleaner than his hands were, anyway – towel, before walking over to retrieve the expected message.

His ruddy face was clearly unenthusiastic as he broke open the fancy wax seal which indicated that it was an official note from the army. It was, after all, probably his new orders, which would ask him to do some inane, pointless task, such as pack up and travel to another rural town and wait there for more useless directions! Or even better, to guard some paranoid old coot's jewelry, or...

The letter fell to the floor as he stared, aghast, into thin air.

Or _escort and protect a High Councilor of Shella_?!

"They've gone _mad,_" he whispered, shaking his head. The Liltian Empire had seen better days, true. The army had but a shadow of its former power, yes. But to have actually sunken so low as to be hired out by an elder of _Shella?_ The sworn foe of Lilties everywhere? The city that struck the final blow to the Empire's Golden Age? He was supposed to escort a _Yuke?!_

Did they really think so little of him? Was his usefulness so limited that they sold his contract to one of the masked devils? Was his honor to be dragged through the dust, spitting on his ancestors who died fighting those...unnatural, soulless, emotionless helm-heads?

For a moment his rage got the better of him, and he seriously considered simply going AWOL.

...But no. No, that would hardly be any better. As abhorrent as the job was, it WAS his job. His mission. He would be forever shamed if he simply abandoned his duty; to do so would be to abandon his rank, his spear, and his proud Ruad heritage. Was he a Liltian soldier or wasn't he? What would his father say if he knew his son had considered desertion? Was his pride worth his good name? His family's name?

He didn't have to like it, no. But he was ordered to protect this - he glanced at the abused and crumpled parchment in his hand – Lady Aurantha, and by the Crystal he'd make sure there wasn't a scratch on her.

He was a Lilty soldier, and he'd show the world exactly what that meant.

* * *

The roads were clear and the sky was bright.

_'Not the best weather for a thief,' _she mused, but the loveliness of the day had an effect even on her hardened soul. The girl – actually, she was more of a woman, but her figure made that unclear at first – was thin and ragged and worn. She was visibly a Selkie, though unlike most Selkies her age she couldn't be called voluptuous by any stretch of the imagination. She was unhealthily thin, though she was filling out a little now after hitting a few towns. While most Selkie women in their late teens would be modestly described as 'curvy,' she could only be called 'lanky,' at best; 'bony' would be even more accurate. Some muscle definition was there, achieved through a life that was by no means easy. Her hair was a dull color somewhere in between olive and slate, and her eyes, the only part of her left vivid in color, were a light, stormy blue.

Stretching her arms as she basked in the cheerful sunlight at the side of the road, she thought she almost remember what warmth felt like. Almost.

But the warmth and the dry and the sunlight were nearly as foreign to her as the thought of paying for things. Gil made prettier dangles than currency, to her at least. A few spare coins decorated her roughly sewn hide clothing, making a stark contrast to the rest of her ensemble. Almost everything she wore was either a shade of brown, gray, or a sickly greenish color, so the bright gold glinted oddly.

She dressed herself out of what she had. She skinned sahagins and swamp-fish and mus, the later of which would have been white, had they not lived in the forsaken mud of Conall Curach. The flesh...she was used to the odd taste, and she used the skin, fur, scales and bones to make her outfit. Hard but supple bark and stolen strips of real cloth made for good boots, at least once they had been treated with resin to keep the wet out.

Somehow, dressed in those colors of mud and swamp and decay, she blended in wherever she went. Even now, among the green grass, a green that was vivid and healthy and nothing like the sickly, grayish colors she bore, she somehow fit.

Sometimes she thought she had died after all, and blended in as a ghost forever tied to this realm. A shade who escaped hell only to find herself stuck among the living for all eternity, chained by the burden of memory. After all, those who believed hell was made of fire and brimstone were as foolish and naïve as a particularly gullible Clavat.

Izha Lul knew very well that hell was cold and wet and muddy.

The memories were slightly easier to carry now that she had given them to something else. She abandoned the book in the middle of the road, though more than two thirds of it remained blank. She had given it all the memories she intended to, and not a recollection more. Ink and paper would hold the story of the Selkies who died in Conall Curach now, not she.

She wanted to forget.

Selkies were born of the sea, or so the legends say. They shed the skins of their water-forms and stole the hides of land dwellers to cover themselves. She did not know if it were true, but she had heard of tribes who took to boats and sailing. She thought she might like that. Maybe the pure water of the ocean, her ancestor's supposed birthplace, would wash the taint of the grim swamp from her once and for all. Perhaps she would take a new skin to cover her thin, abused current self.

All she knew was that she traveled south until she hit the coast. From there she would decide what to do next.

She smiled as she decided to pay another visit to the small farming village before beginning her trip.

Tonight she would make sure she ate well, no matter who's plate it was she ate from.


	7. Chapter 6: Three Tasks

**Author's Note:** Since I was a terrible person and didn't update this in forever, I decided to try and make it up by cranking out another chapter quickly. Here's number six, and we're back to the main character! Someday there will be action in this story, I swear! Maybe the characters will even get to meet each other - wouldn't that be freaky?

Link to the group picture is last chapter. Mr. Ruad and Izha Lul look like they're going to gut something. Eh, they probably _are. _Or they would, if there was any action going on in this story.

* * *

She took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh morning air. The scent was sweet and pure, tasting of dew and smelling like growing things and early morning mist and life. All around her was the symphony of life as it woke at the behest of the rising sun: the singing of birds, the sound of the swift but smoothly flowing waters that poured out of her home to form the river Jegon, the chirps of crickets, the humming of other insect life, and the gentle rustling of the grass in the wind. It was so beautiful, so vibrant, so peaceful.

She wept.

She wept for the generations to come, who would never be able to enjoy these scenes. She wept for the generations lost. She wept that the vibrancy of colors she saw before her now contrasted so sharply with the muted, tainted scenes she had glimpsed in dreams, as though all that was beautiful there would bear a grimy film, like silver that has tarnished. She wept that the gorgeous, sparkling mist that veiled the headwaters of the Jegon terrified her, even though she had grown up playing in the cool vapors.

_'I did not believe it would be this hard,' _Aurantha thought, raising her visor to clean the tears from her feather-furred cheekbones. _'Yet here I stand, not even a mile from Shella, unable to take another step for my grief. I am too old. Surely I have aged a century as I slept, for I do not recall feeling so brittle when I laid myself to bed last night.'_

She leaned heavily on her staff. The Yuke elder did seem more stooped than she had before, less regal. Granted, she was now dressed for her journey, rather than as the lady of some status that she was. She now wore a plain brown robe, shorter than her usual style to accommodate travel. The veil that hung from the back of her polished helmet was plain white and fell just to her neck, no longer. Her staff was relatively simple, carved in a spiral pattern with a small crystal at the tip.

She brought with her only that staff and a single bag, small enough so as not to burden her. The lady wasn't as young as she used to be, she knew, and what was the point in carrying a large, heavy pack when one was a gifted mage and a simple enchantment would suffice?

It was not only her unassuming outfit, however, but the way she carried herself. Lady Aurantha had kept her poise when reassuring her people, had remained firm and strong while warning them of the dangers she foresaw, and radiated hope as she told them she had a plan of sorts. Now that she was alone, she was just an old Yuke woman who felt that the world was rather too heavy a burden for someone who was tall and thin and brittle of bone.

_'I am not the only person in the world to suffer the gift of visions,' _she thought bitterly. '_Why is it that there is no one with less years and more hope to make this journey? I am tired and I have not even begun.' _

Even as she thought this, she realized with a start that she was beginning to believe that she could not possibly succeed.

She would not let herself give up hope so easily, nor so soon. If there was truly no one younger and more optimistic to complete this task, she would have to make sure she finished it before she became senile and decrepit. (She did not let herself wonder if she would truly have the opportunity to grow older. If anyone would have that opportunity.)

And she did have a plan. Of sorts. It was hard to prepare for the end of the world, especially when the only information one had to go on was in the form of visions. While they told her the feelings and the senses and the knowledge, they were still dreams, and like regular dreams many times those images and scenes were without context. She saw faces screaming, people dying. Deadly mist that poured from a wound in the earth. Crystals alight with magic and promise. A red sky and a screaming star. A demon of light and shadows and thought.

What she didn't have was a timeline, except that it loomed on the horizon. She didn't have specifics. She didn't know how one image related to another – did the star leak the poison? Or was it the demon? Which came first? What role did the crystals play – did they harm the demon, or cure an illness?

She had a vast collection of puzzle pieces, as it were, but no reference picture to tell her what she was to make of them.

Her first priority was to warn those who resided with the Great Crystal, the Crystal of Memories, for they were in the gravest danger. After that...

She felt there would be little time after that to accomplish what she must. She knew of three things that must be done once the calamity happened, however it happened. These three things insured that there would be a chance that a future generation could restore the world to its proper state.

Aurantha couldn't remember why it was necessary to delegate the task to the people of the future. There was a light, and a voice...not burning bright enough. Her memories – there was laughter, like stars. Leon and Hurdy – stop, they did nothing! It was so close, they had found the path she lay for them! Never enough to defeat – _something _and it hurt, so painfully bright and endless, she couldn't remember it all, except that she could _not._

She could not. For whatever reason, all that she could recall of her dreams was that neither she, nor anyone else at the present time, could hope to triumph over whatever evil was coming. That was why she had to...pave the way. That was her task, she knew.

There would be a horror, the demon, hiding behind a curtain of death, the power behind the throne. Faceless and infinite and dark and unstoppable, except to those who would come. She had been promised they would come, she felt. No others could hope to survive. She must therefore seal it away, so that no one could fall into its grasp. This was her first task.

It was a fate worse than death that awaited the unwary. She felt that with every fiber of her being.

There must be a key to the lock placed on the nameless, faceless evil, so that those able to face it and triumph could do so. It must be remote, so that only those who sought after it could find it. It must be guarded, so that only the strong could obtain it. It must be hidden, so that only the clever could discover it. And it must be pure, so that only the just could march to that final battle.

There would be those who would try to free such demons to feast on the world for unscrupulous reasons. She knew that because she sensed it, and because she had experienced a fair number of corrupted plots in her day. There would always be the mage who experimented with life and death, the alchemist seeking to harness powers beyond that which mortals should wield, the ones driven mad by greed and power and evil. Lunatics and cultists and criminals. Those who would seek to bring about the world's end a second time would never be able to touch the key, she would make sure of that.

There would have to be a way for the path to be marked as well, so that neither the key nor the lock would be lost to the ravages to time. Somehow the story must be told, without being common knowledge. Somehow it must survive until it reaches the ears of those meant to fulfill it, without being overheard by the wrong sorts or forgotten entirely.

Finally, she had to find out how to keep everyone alive until that day came.

She had to set the foundation if there would be any hope of rebuilding the future.

There would be no more tears. There would be no more complaints.

Aurantha, Prophetess of Shella, resumed her march south. Her guard was waiting to escort her to the mountains where the Great Crystal rested. It would not do to keep him waiting.


	8. Chapter 7: Deeds Forgotten

**Author's Note:** I have no good excuse for how long it has been since I last updated. I mean, sure. I graduated from highschool - whoo! - but really? Graduation lasted one day. Finals were like three days. It's been how many months since I last posted a chapter? Yeah.

So what I'm trying to say is sorry. I'd like to promise that I'll never do that again, but I'm pretty sure I know myself well enough to know that there is every possibility that I will do this again. Sorry in advance! I will, however, promise that **_it will be finished._ **No matter how long it takes, no matter how long I wait between updates, I will never abandon the story. I may put off writing a new chapter for half a year - I hope I'm not _that _bad - but it will be done.

So moving onward, and now something amazing happens -_ two characters interact._ Spooky.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Deeds Forgotten  
**

Well, one good thing about his ill-fated journey: he was certainly getting toned. And tanned. Why, if the sun continued to beat down on his hair like it currently was, even his hair would be bleached blonde by the time he hit the next town! If it wasn't for his rather modest – unfortunate for him, given the current warmth – clothing, they might mistake him for a Selkie when he finally returned home! It might make for an interesting story, at the very least.

_ 'Tanned and toned, with sun-streaked hair/ no longer a Clavat of mild mother earth, I've become now a Selkie of wild sea fair? Eh, needs work. Fair sounds wrong. What else, though? Glare? Heir? Air? Snare? Wait, what's that up there? Now that's odd,'_ Terrand thought to himself as he peered down the dirt road in front of him. '_It almost looks like there's another traveler ahead, but who else is fool enough to be going forth on foot alone?' _

Whoever it was, he certainly hoped they had some cool water. The water in his canteen tasted like rust. Warm rust. He shuddered, once again wishing that he had simply stayed home.

He really wasn't cut out for this. He dreamed big, oh, of course he id. He had to, it was part of his job. But that was all he did – dream. He was a poet, a thinker, a dreamer; not a man of action but of quill and ink. But he managed to convince himself that to improve as an artisan of language, he had to actually experience things, rather than dream of doing so.

In retrospect, the Clavat realized that there were plenty of things to experience in the comfort of his own home. And that nature was all very nice and pretty in its place, but he rather preferred looking at it, rather than wading through it.

'_At least I didn't take up the steadfast trade of farming,' _he grimaced, thinking of what it would be like to be even muddier and sweatier than he was currently, every day for the rest of his able-bodied life. '_Uncle always said I was a pansy. To think, I used to take offense to that! I think that if appreciating a decent, comfortable life of civilization makes me a pansy, then I'm proud to prove Uncle Loghan right. Oh, I think I'm getting _blisters._ Once I get to the next town, I'll just stay there. Maybe permanently, depending on if there's a job opening for someone literate. Perhaps they need a scribe? Translator? Librarian? Not teacher; children are cute for about five minutes, at the most...'_

But it was a fair distance, and he wasn't entirely sure that his map was at all accurate. (Surely it was just the fault of the country town's rube of a cartographer; the next large city couldn't _really _be that far off...) He was beginning to get a little worried.

Fortunately, it appeared that his eyes hadn't been deceiving him after all. That dark shape in the distance _was_ a real traveler! Perhaps he – or she? - could also give him better directions. The person was still too far away to make out any details, especially with that annoying glint of light that obscured his or her head. It hurt his already strained eyes!

'_What, is the fool walking around in this baking heat wearing a helmet or somethi – oh.' _

Terrand fought the urge to slap himself on the forehead and lost. If he needed yet more proof that he was suffering greatly from exposure, this certainly qualified. Lamenting the great loss of his sharp mental faculties, he could now see that his fellow traveler was obviously a Yuke.

Even with the relatively simple travel clothing (at least someone knew how to plan a wardrobe for the weather, as she seemed to not even notice the heat.) his experience with the finer side of life lead him to believe she was no simple pedestrian. She walked with a stiff sort of grace, reminding him of an old, rich Lilty noblewoman who had once employed him to write letters to her friends. To be a poet, he had to understand people fairly well, after all.

"Hail and well met, lady Yuke!" he called, bowing with a bit of a flourish. After all, he always had the energy to be a polite gentleman. "I am the poet Terrand, from Falthia Port. May I inquire as to the last town or village you passed, and its distance?"

She stopped, setting down her bag (Surprisingly small, he noted. She could not have traveled very far with so few provisions. ...Except, of course, she was a Yuke, and even if she was not an enchanter herself she would probably have access to magic-crafted items...). She stretched a little, obviously glad to have a reason to rest for a while.

"Well met indeed, Terrand the poet," she replied. Her voice was low and gentle and kind, with a hint of amusement in it that belied its otherwise grand and stately tone. Something about the way she greeted him reminded Terrand strongly of his mother. As a child he swore that she read minds, but as he grew he came to believe it was a quality shared by all mothers out of necessity. "The nearest settlement from whence I have traveled is the outpost of Neril Lei, about two day's walking from here," she continued.

Terrand was despondent. Two days until he got to Neril Lei – had he misread his map? Was it out of date? Or was he simply so slow that what should've been a short journey would take days more than it should have? Neril Lei was NOT the sort of destination he was looking for – outpost was a generous term for the motley collection of tents surrounding a single log fort whose original use was long forgotten. It was a large semi-permanent camp, a rest stop for travelers that feared wild monsters more than having their purses stolen. Neril Lei was mainly a Selkie outpost, and conveniently it was just outside the boundaries of any nearby cities or governments, making it effectively lawless.

"Oh," he said morosely. Remembering his manners, he added, "Thank you."

He reached to readjust his pack, although he wasn't sure about what he was supposed to do now. Going forward no longer sounded like a pleasant option, though he was still reluctant to give up and turn back.

"You seek to prove yourself, do you not?"

Terrand snapped his head back toward his mysterious acquaintance, surprised. He wasn't sure which was more startling, the fact that she had spoken again so suddenly, the fact that she had spoken something so _random_, or the fact that she was correct. How...? Was it that obvious? He supposed it could have been; he reeked of city dweller, yet he was off in the middle of no where, totally alone. Still, the fact that she pointed it out without any prompting or obvious reason unsettled him a little.

"Er- yes, actually. Why do you ask?" he questioned her, a tad wary.

"At least, that is what you have reasoned to be your motivation. You desire to devote yourself completely to your work, as you feel that you have always been held back – by your surroundings, your peers, and yourself. You wish to experience the results of your labors after tasting true inspiration, something that impels you to feel passion in your work. However, the true root of your disquiet is the fear that if you do not find something to inspire you, you will never write a great work that will withstand the test of time. You fear never creating a masterpiece that will be remembered throughout the ages," she continued, the two dark holes in her shining helm drilling into him as if they were vortexes trying to suck him up.

He felt very odd, as if his body was just a puppet – not quite his own, merely the channel through which he could see and hear things. Like an unsettling dream that was just normal enough to make that which was _wrong_ pop out. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck, a wave of goosebumps chilled his arms, and he wasn't sure if the sinking feeling in his stomach was dread or anger or fear.

_'How dare she – how _did_ she – that's not true – I'm not – I don't – she couldn't – this isn't – but why?' _Thoughts tumbled about in his head, none of them quite reaching his suddenly dry mouth. Fighting against the sudden tension that had gripped him, he moistened his lips and tried to respond, to yell, to will his legs to run as fast as he could from the crazy witch lady...

"I apologize," she said, bowing her head slightly. "I have caused you great distress. I...fear that I may have been intemperate, but I only wished to -"

"Who are you?" Terrand interrupted her, finding his voice and his spine.

She paused, quirking her head in a way that almost made the matronly – and also now very intimidating, at least after that little display – woman look sheepish.

"I apologize again. I am being uncharacteristically rude at the moment, it seems. My name is Aurantha. I am a Councilor of Shella, and the journey I am on is one of grave importance. Though admittedly my effort was...ill-considered, what I was trying to accomplish was to make you an offer," she said, bowing her head once more.

"What?" Terrand said, baffled. He shook his head slightly, blinking his eyes several times. "You...what sort of offer? And...those things you said..."

She sat with a weary sigh on a large, flat rock on the side of the road.

"I am a seer. I do not read thoughts, nor do I possess the power to scry the secrets of anyone's mind. However, I do sense things. Other things I extrapolate based off observation. I sensed your discontent, your desire to be great. I concluded that you, like most artists, desired above all else to create something you could be proud of, your crowning achievement. The rest...I guessed," she said, the last part with just a hint of amusement.

"Okay, fine, but that still..." Terrand said, trailing off and turning around, unsure how best to describe his feelings on how crazy this encounter had become. "Fine, I'll accept that as an explanation, if only because I'm starting to feel like the more I ask the less I'll understand. But then what sort of offer are you talking about?"

"It is very simple, and something I believe you would find enjoyable, as it is what you are most accomplished at. I require a wordsmith."

_What use is a sacrifice if it is forgotten?_

_What use is the deed if abandoned by time?_

_What hope for a future if the past is unwritten?_

_What use is a promise that no one will find? _


	9. Chapter 8: A Little Serendipity

**Author's Note:** My computer is dead. Luckily my hard drive is safe and sound, all files intact. There was a terrible lightning storm a few days back, and the one computer in the house that didn't have a surge protector got fried from a power surge. Of course it would be mine, my baby, my darling. Now I'm stuck using the family computer whenever I can, hoping that I won't get kicked off by someone else wanting to use it.

Ah well...my files are safe, so I'm content. It's a damn good thing that the files were safe, or else I'd have to rewrite like half of this chapter.

Tried something a little different. I once read and fell in love with a story that had clever and ironic POV changes, and I decided to mimic that. Hope it's good.

HOLY CRAP GEIRR GETS TO TALK.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**A Little Serendipity  
**

_Property of _Terrand Bakerson._ If found, please return to __

There was no address listed. Not even the city, which would have been more helpful anyway. Riverford was just a small village, and didn't have official street names and addresses. The population was growing, to be sure, but it was still small enough that everyone knew everybody, and there wasn't much of interest to travelers except the inn and the supply store.

So who the hell was this Bakerson, anyway? The name didn't sound familiar, and his time in the pub had led to Geirr overhearing quite a few names. He probably had heard the name of everyone in town at least once. There was always gossip on the grapevine, and it always ended up being shouted in the tavern. The soldier grimaced, recalling some of the more memorable examples. (There was still a dent in that wall – who would've guessed that the tiny Clavat barmaid had the arm of a giant?)

The book was dirty and smelled a little, not surprising given that he had found it in the ditch by the road just outside town, an odd brown rectangle among the reeds. Other than the obvious nature damage, it looked shockingly new. The inside cover, where the leather binding was nearly untouched, still had a faint whiff of the tanner's about it. And the inner pages were stiff; there was no hint of softness as he turned the pages, indicating that it was only recently made.

_ 'Who the hell throws away a new book? Unprinted, too!' _thought the Lilty angrily, having an intense dislike for wanton waste. Any soldier had to recognize the fact that things were precious, that in battle supplies would run out. To simply throw something useful away, especially when a warrior knew that a single item could mean the difference between life or death, was unacceptable.

'_Damned spoiled kid probably forgot about it. Well, that'll teach 'em a little more responsibility,' _he thought sternly. _'Wait. What's this?'_

Toward the middle of the book, a few pages stood out as having been written in. He peered at the pages, curious. The messy, dark scratches on the page were interesting, to say the least, but he couldn't read a word of it. After a few minutes of curious examination of the irregular scrawling handwriting, he realized that it was written in...Selkic? Odd, he would've bet good money that with a name like 'Bakerson' the owner could only be a Clavat.

Though he couldn't understand what they meant, something about the harsh ink symbols seemed almost haunting. He closed the book, not interested in its mysteries.

He stood there for a while more, the book tucked beneath the plated arm that did not hold his brightly polished weapon. Geirr had stationed himself at the entrance to town, every inch radiating the serious pride of a Liltian soldier as he stood stiff-backed and alert, waiting.

The town behind him was full of its usual bustle and life, but the road before him was empty.

He sighed, letting his posture slip for just a moment of rest as he leaned against a fence post.

He hated waiting.

Dusk. She was too impatient to wait any longer, so she'd just have to make dusk work for her. Besides, she was hungry, and there was the chance that the striped apple pie she had smelled baking earlier might have a few slices left, slices that no one would miss.

Riverford was full of happy, well fed people. People who were content to leave their windows wide open to catch the lovely summer breeze. And the orchard had a fence as high as her waist – hilarious! As if they'd never even heard of such thing as a poor, wandering Selkie. It was probably the most trusting little village she'd ever stumbled across.

Heck, part of her felt like retiring here. 'Course, she knew that they'd wise up eventually, and she might even get chased out of town. It was a nice thought, though. Maybe she could settle down for real, though. Get herself a legitimate job and everything, join society. After a somber moment of reflection upon that thought, she snorted out loud.

Her bitter amusement quickly soured into a serious expression as she crouched lower into the bushes near the little house. They were soft and she wasn't. Didn't mean she could afford to let her guard down. As quiet and peaceful and unassuming as this place was, there was a subtle tang in the wind, something changing in the air pressure. A storm, maybe, but she doubted it. The air tasted dry. Something was up, though. Something that made tonight different than yesterday or the night before that.

She didn't like it.

Izha Lul shook her head to clear it of distractions, her matted braids rustling against her back. Something was coming, maybe, but that didn't change the facts in the here and now. All she needed was the here and now. Her senses were sharp – smell the grass, the wood, dew on the leaves of the bushes that masked her, rustle of the wind in the trees, birds chirping, people settling down for the night, the world bathed in purples and grays as the sun disappeared for the day, the taste of the evening chill. All of these things were right here, right now, where she was. No thoughts. No words. These things were pointless to a survivor like her.

The window was already open. She heard no one. One peek, the room was clear. No fear, because there were no thoughts – just her senses and her instincts. Her body knew what to do. She knew what to do. Silent like a wraith, in and out. A loaf of bread, a hunk of jerky, slice of pie. Out of the bushes, out of the main square, no one in sight.

Her hideout was empty. No one followed, no one found it. The branches she placed were exactly as they had been when she left. The large trees by the river formed a sort of cave of roots, mostly hidden by large reeds. Safe, good view of the main road into town. Not perfect – no second exit. But home. For now.

She relaxed, letting the tension flow from her body as she stretched. Izha Lul ate in peaceful silence, watching the last rays of sunlight lazily disappear past the horizon. A few more days like this couldn't hurt. She wouldn't go soft just by enjoying a few peaceful days, would she? How could she resist? The odd feeling – animal instinct? Premonition? Paranoia? – she had had earlier was quickly fading now that she was surrounded by the protective trees and the chirping birds and the humming cicadas and the babbling river and the rustling reeds. Plus, pie. Really tasty pie.

She always found it harder to work up a good dose of suspicion while eating such a delicacy.

A good few moments passed as she simply licked the sticky, apple flavored crumbs from her fingers and thought of nothing else. That summer evening symphony was relaxing, and would have lulled her to sleep had her sharp eyes not spotted the lone figure standing at the edge of the town. He was nearly blocked by one house, but he was far enough out onto the road that she had at least a glimpse of him. She knew him instantly, despite the distance and the poor lighting. His stature – and weapon – gave him away as being that odd Lilty that was in town. From what she could tell, he didn't actually live there, though he had been there a fair while, much longer than she.

Izha Lul had never bothered attempting to take anything of his. That spear and armor might be worth a pretty gil, true, but it wasn't worth the risk of being stabbed by a paranoid and highly trained soldier. She had of course taken a good look at his things – the more she saw, the more she knew – and the fact that they were very distinctive and clearly marked with a family crest shot any remaining chances of her getting a profit from them. The only people who would buy a fine set of armor and a well-crafted weapon were other Lilty warriors, who would probably recognize them and kill her for thievery.

Besides, he was a little creepy.

Like this evening, for example. What on earth was he doing just standing around the outskirts of town? He looked like he was in full uniform. Almost as if he was on patrol, but what would the village need to be defended from?

_'Something coming,' _she realized, her eyes narrowing. _'Something weird. S'coming soon. He knows something. S'not happy 'bout it neither, not if he's got 'imself all suited up an' everything. But he didn't say nothing 'bout it to the town; the talk was all normal an' relaxed.'_

She shifted to get a better view, as she was now fully alert and driven by a mixture of curiosity and suspicion to find out more.

_'So what's big enough t'get that spearhead all worked up, but nothin' to get the town in a tizzy?'_

So she waited.

His wait was over at last.

_'Finally,' _ he thought, relieved that the worst part of this ordeal was over at last. As humiliating as he found this assignment, as abhorrent as the idea of assisting a helm-face was to him, and as possibly physically challenging and dangerous as the journey might be, the worst part was the wait. It was humiliating, but it was his duty, and he would do it. It was abhorrent, but his honor and pride was more important to him than any grudge. The danger was the entire reason why he was going – he was hired to protect and escort. The danger was of no issue to him.

But the waiting was different. Not only did his impatient nature make waiting for anything irksome, while he was waiting he wasn't doing anything important. All of the other problems with this mission were still there, but he had nothing to _do _to make them bearable.

He was useless. A soldier with no war to fight. A weapon with no monster to slay. A shield with no person to defend. All he could do was think about the mission, and how terrible it likely was going to be. Geirr trained, of course, but straw-dummies and invisible foes were no challenge, no way to take his mind off things.

And so he waited. The road had remained empty, and the town had remained full. The century-like days were as onerous a chore as he had ever been burdened with, but they were over now. He was done stewing in his own thoughts – at least for now.

He could work with 'for now.' He always had before. Geirr found that the key to his inner peace was to stave off unpleasant thoughts for as long as possible.

Two figures were approaching his position quickly. First in his line of sight was a Clavat man, a good many years younger than him – or at least he felt older than the bookish man looked. Geirr gave him a slightly contemptuous look over, noting the bespectacled Clavat's willowy stature and lack of weapon with disdain.

_'Great. A useless dandy. Hopefully he stays here; I don't need any extra complications on this trip, such as a soft-fingered deadweight,' _he thought sourly, internally rolling his eyes.

Still, he nodded gruffly to the man as he approached. He would be civil. He might not like it, but he would be civil.

Luckily he didn't have to say anything to the Clavat, because his…_employer_ came forward.

She was tall and grand. Even he had to admit that there was an aura of dignity about the plainly dressed Yuke woman who bowed gracefully before him.

"Sir Ruad. I am honored to meet you, and to be granted your assistance on my journey," she greeted as she bowed. He automatically made a short bow in return, formality to one of higher rank being part of his very nature as a soldier.

"Lady Aurantha of Shella. I am honored to be your guard," he stated, the line practically memorized. His face never betrayed any emotion during their exchange of greetings, nor did his voice. His feelings on the situation were irrelevant; he would act with honor.

She nodded, before gesturing to the Clavat man, who gave a bow with a bit of a flourish.

"Please allow me to introduce Terrand the Poet," she said – was that a hint of amusement in her voice? It couldn't be. He'd never heard of a Yuke with a sense of humor. "He will be accompanying us as well."

_'Curse it all, I knew it!' _Geirr internally groused at her words. After a moment of internal frustration, shock coursed through him like a bolt of lightning. He had heard that name before. He had heard it just today – no, no he hadn't _heard _it! He had _read _it!

"Terrand? Terrand _Bakerson?_" he asked, almost refusing to believe such a coincidence could possibly be true.

"Why – yes, that is my last name," the Clavat said in surprise. "How did you…?"

He wordlessly held forth the book, shaking his head at this latest prank of fate.

Terrand accepted the book, his look of confusion melting into an expression of shock and amazement, and a little bit of wariness. Aurantha simply watched. If she had any reaction to the proceedings, he couldn't tell. '

Terrand accepted the book, his look of confusion melting into an expression of shock and amazement, and a little bit of wariness. Aurantha simply watched. If she had any reaction to the proceedings, Geirr couldn't tell. But then, she was a Yuke. Even if they showed their faces, he wasn't sure they had any emotions to express.

"W-where did you get this?" Terrand said slowly, his eyes glued to the book's leather surface.

The lilty shrugged and gestured to the side of the road.

"Found it over there."

"It…this was stolen from me. How on earth did it wind up over there?"

Geirr shrugged again, but offered no explanation. He didn't know and he didn't particularly care, either. It didn't surprise him in the least to learn that the Clavat was an easy mark for thieves.

"…" Terrand opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying a word. He still stared at the book as if it was going to sprout wings and fly away at any given moment.

"It is late. I would advise resting for the night, for we have a journey of many miles ahead of us. Starting early tomorrow would be ideal, I believe," Aurantha said gently, breaking the silence. "Sir Ruad, would you please guide us to the inn?"

"Of course," he said, heading back into town.

She would have to go into town. There was something going on here – that Yuke stank of class, even with travel clothes. And she didn't look like no ordinary traveler, neither. She was something different, just like Izha Lul had thought. Rare enough to see a Yuke 'round these parts, but one that moved like she owned the place? With a Lilty warrior bowing to her in greeting? And some random Clavat who looked kinda familiar? Something different all right.

She was going to get to the bottom of this.


	10. Interlude

**Author's Note: **This is just a mini-chapter. It was going to be chapter nine, but it really wanted to end the way it did - adding more would've ruined the impact. Chapter 9 will be up soon enough. Also, please forgive me the random dots. I hate the way the document manager doesn't allow much in the way of formatting. No tabs! No superfluous paragraphs! No align-right! _Nothing! _I really feel that this little mini-chapter _needs _the spacing. Without it, the whole mood and tone is sort of...squished. It's supposed to be a little choppy, a little spacey, a little off and on. The periods were the only way I was able to fight the power and space my story the way I wanted it. _  
_

* * *

.

**Interlude**

.**  
**

Only three.

She tossed and turned, not out of discomfort, for the inn was surprisingly well furnished, but out of a vague sense of worry. She knew fate would provide its answer at the proper time, but there was so little time left. They would leave with the rising sun. She had believed – felt it in the air – that she would discover all of them relatively quickly. Having discovered two others, she had hoped the fourth would become known to her as well. The little details, trivial and petty as most would see them, sometimes changed the entire meaning of a vision, after all. One might ask why three wouldn't do just as well, and she would have no answer. All that she knew is that she had seen four. _Four pillars to hold up what is left of our crumbling world, four to pave the way for the future. _

_ They stood, backs toward her, though she is one of the four as well. She saw them standing over cliffs above the ocean. Standing on a hill of sand in a blinding desert. Standing before endless wastes of fog and quagmire. Standing underneath stone archways and buildings in an empty city. Standing before_

_ blackness and light_

_ golden_

_ gleaming_

_._

_._

_.  
_

_ there is nothing left of them to mourn_

_._

_._

_**YOU SHALL DREAM NO MORE, SEER.**_

.

.

_there is nothing left of them to remember_

_._

_.  
_

It is no surprise that she woke screaming.


	11. Chapter 9: The Fourth One

**Author's Note: **Here we go with Chapter 9! Finally, all of the pieces are put together...and we can get the plot train a rollin'. Next chapter – on the road! Explanations and conversations! An epic fight in everyone's favorite set of ruins...wait, there _aren't any ruins_? Gasp!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**The Fourth One  
**

_It was no surprise that she woke screaming._

What _was _surprising, however, was the sight of a unknown figure in her room, an unfamiliar black shape in the darkness. The only light, such as it was, came from the window which Aurantha was certain had been firmly shut before she went to bed. On a night with only a sliver of the moon in the sky, this wasn't enough to see any details, especially not with her weary old eyes.

It was enough to see that the intruder was standing stock still, his or her pose awkward and stiff. Obviously, he had not anticipated that his target would wake, especially not in such a..._startling_ manner. The shock must have nearly frightened the would-be thief half to death. No doubt he or she had been expecting that an elderly traveler such as herself would prove to be a simple target. Perhaps the intruder even believed that a woman of her age and status would travel with expensive jewels or bags of gil, and being an old lady, she would naively leave such things unguarded?

If that was indeed the case, she would soon have a bit of fun. She enjoyed being underestimated.

Aurantha did not have much time to regain her composure, though. Even she had difficulty maintaining her usual tranquil state after such a harrowing night – waking from what could only be described as a nightmare only to find that someone had broken in to her room. The figure was obviously skilled, and reacted well to surprise. After a mere moment of shocked stillness, the mystery person silently fled for the window.

"_**Stop**_." Aurantha nearly did not react in time – truly, her reflexes were not what they used to be. Once, she could stop a drop of rain before it hit her mask, but now she did not even know if she had the speed or power to stop a thief from escaping.

With a sigh and a creak of her old bones, she rose from the bed to see if she had succeeded.

She was interrupted, however, by her door bursting open with a loud bang. Aurantha didn't make a sound, but how badly she was startled was evident in her pose – one hand touched the wall after she stepped back in surprise, the other hand raised in front of her.

The darkness may have preserved her dignity for a second, but at the sight of a candle she gasped and turned away, reaching for a shawl that rested on the nightstand. It was thin and light, not too much of a burden as she covered her head and face with the fabric. She made sure to leave a crack for her to see through – the material was opaque.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized that the second intruder was Sir Ruad. Of course his instincts were too finely honed for him to sleep through such chaos! She did not doubt that he could wake at the slightest hint of trouble. Even if she had not known the need for three companions, it would still have been wise to hire such a guard – everyone has weaknesses of body. No matter how powerful a caster she might be, she could not protect herself as she slept, or if she were surrounded, or any number of situations.

On top of all that, this journey had already made her realize just how old she had become. She was no longer used to walking for so long, and her legs and back ached and the joints protested being out of the comfort of her bed. Even if she were to be attacked while awake and alert, she was no longer certain that she would be able to adequately protect herself from anything posing a significant threat. It was enlightening, albeit humbling.

"There was...an intruder," she said, pointing to the open window. She decided that it would not be prudent to inform Sir Ruad of her nightmare at the current time. Judging by the look on his face, however, he did not entirely believe her words. Perhaps it was merely that he distrusted her entirely due to my race and position, but she chose to attribute his suspicions to his intuition instead. He struck Aurantha as having excellent instincts. Still, he nodded and chose to accept her explanation – for now.

Without having said a word in response, he crept cautiously to the window, candle in one hand, spear in the other. The Yuke woman followed.

There, sprawled beneath the window of the inn – it was lucky for her that it was a one story building – was the motionless body of the nighttime visitor. Sir Ruad's eyebrows shot up. He gave a quick glance back at Aurantha.

"How fortunate, it appears that my spell struck true after all. I had feared I was too late," she said, by means of explanation. Before he could voice his question, she added, "She is alive."

Sir Ruad nodded, still keeping his spear pointed towards the window even as he turned.

"What do you want done with it...Lady?" he asked, pointing to the still form of the intruder with a quick jab of his weapon. The distinct pronoun selection was not lost on the Yuke. Nor did she miss the stiff pause before he said her name.

_'So, he insists on playing this game. A pity,'_ she thought disapprovingly. '_So much effort is wasted in masking bitterness with civility.'_

"If you would be so kind, help me lift her inside. I would speak with her," Aurantha said, her tone weary.

His eyes narrowed, but he did not question her.

"Very well...Lady."

It took a few minutes of awkward struggling with the body to get it back inside. The spell had rendered the would-be burglar stiff as a board, as for all intents and purposes she was 'frozen' in time. It wasn't truly accurate, as tampering with the flow of time would be a spell far more complex and difficult than a simple one word incantation, magic of a truly frightening magnitude. However, it wasn't exactly paralysis, nor was she literally frozen – it was easiest just to accept the spell at its base value. It made the intruder _stop_.

When the body was carefully set inside the room, with the window and door firmly shut and locked. Aurantha had donned her helmet and lit a lamp. (She was pleasantly shocked to find that

Sir Ruad had turned away as soon as she reached for her mask. It was a courtesy she had not expected of him.) The soldier warily stood in front of the stranger, holding his spear in such a way as to make it clear that there was no escape.

It was of very little surprise to either of them to note that the infiltrator was a Selkie. What was more surprising was the sorry state of the bandit – slightly underfed, a figure that made the average Clavat woman look voluptuous, with clothing that seemed shabby even when compared to other vagrant bands of Selkies. The thick-stitched patches that made up her outfit were so discolored as to all shades of gray or green or brown, and it was next to impossible to tell the materials sewn in. The only bright bit of color was her tribal tattoo, and even that was a hue of red that was muddled and dark.

Most Selkies prided themselves on their appearance. It was a cultural idiosyncrasy, a mark of status. Much like wild wolves, a group of Selkie thieves fought amongst themselves to make a sort of hierarchy. Obviously, the most skilled thieves were able to obtain the best items, whether it was fine clothes or bits of precious metals or gems. The finer the appearance, the more respected the Selkie tended to be among his or her pack. Not to mention the fact that Selkies tended to be a vain people, aware and arrogant of the fact that they were beautiful in their wildness.

But while they might fight clan-to-clan and family against family, Selkies looked after their own pack.

Aurantha was even more curious to learn about her mysterious invader. With a hand gesture, the spell was broken. The Selkie nearly collapsed as limpness replaced the stillness that held her. Still, her eyes darted about the room, indicating that she was alert. By the way she stiffened into something that was trying to be a crouch, Aurantha could tell that the girl was ready to bolt at a moments notice, and would have done so already if not for the spear pointed at her chest.

"Greetings," the Yuke said, trying to put the tense thief at ease. She did not want to _harm_ the girl; she merely wanted to question her. It was far more generous than the girl would reasonably expect, in truth. Many would have her hands for breaking in, even if she did not succeed in stealing anything. In fact, most would see her lose more than simply her hands, due to the fact that she was a Selkie. There were more than a few towns that would hang a Selkie for walking in broad daylight, let alone breaking and entering.

It did not work. The girl remained wary like a caught animal: the hairs of her neck and arms sticking up, every muscle tensed, every sense straining to pick up every detail of her surroundings. She did not move half an inch.

"I will not harm you. I simply wish for you to explain yourself. "

The girl did not answer. In response, Geirr tightened the grip on his spear. Her eyes darted to his hands, then to his face. In a flash, her gaze returned to Aurantha. She still did not move.

"Why did you break in here tonight?"

"...Felt off."

"What felt...off, exactly?" Aurantha asked, pleased to have gotten a response so quickly, and highly interested at the unexpected statement.

"Th' wind. Th' air. Felt different. Off," the thief grunted, clearly not wanting to elaborate.

Curiouser and curiouser. Unfortunately for Aurantha, the explanation didn't actually explain anything at all. However, it was far too early to simply give up, so she continued to prod.

"And this lead you to breaking in to my room? Am I to conclude, then, that you believed that I had something to do with this aberrance?"

"Yeah. S'you. Somethin's up, and yer in the middle of it," the Selkie girl said, meeting Aurantha's stare with something that wasn't quite a glare, but nonetheless seemed accusatory. It was true what they said about Selkies having feral eyes, the older woman noted. Yet despite what many believed, and for all that they acted like it at times, they were not part beast.

Although it would appear that their instincts were as sharp as if they _were_ part animal, judging by the perceptiveness of this girl.

"How very astute. You are correct; something _is _happening...or something _will _ happen, to be more precise," the Yuke woman said, elated as realization dawned on her.

This was the one. The fourth one of whom she dreamt. She surely had to be; only fate would pull such a trick as to have her literally tumble through the window.

The Selkie girl didn't look surprised in the least. Aurantha wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not, but the girl seemed to be relaxing a bit. Perhaps it was her perceptive instincts again, making her aware of the tug of fate?

"Knew it. Shadows and animals and monsters don't whisper lies," the girl muttered, looking away. "The monsters, they're excited. Something 'bout a red moon..."

A red moon...

It has long been a symbol of evil, just as the light of the crystal is a symbol of good. The two repel each other, holding balance.

And somehow, all of the twisted creatures born to shadows and hatred and war seem to sense whenever that balance is broken. Of course they would feel it know as well. This looked to be the greatest upset of balance in all of history. They draw power from the weakness of people, from chaos and pain and fear. There was a time when monsters roamed the roads freely, but in these days of relative peace they were a very rare sight, thankfully. Only in the forgotten lands, deep in the wilds, did monsters still rule. Travelers still were wary on the roads at night, but bandits were far more likely to strike them down than monsters.

Somehow, it was not surprising to find that this girl lived in places where monsters could be found. Every inch of her advertised her lack of touch with the civilized world.

"I know of these things as well. I have seen them," Aurantha said softly. "That is why I am here. I aim to ensure that we withstand these events. I fear for what might occur if nothing is done."

The girl stared at her for a long time. This time her gaze was not hostile; rather it was calculating.

"An' you need help." It was not a question.

"Yes, I most certainly do. Are you willing? I do not know why, but I am nonetheless sure you have some skill or knowledge that could make all the difference in this quest."

"What?" It had been a while since he had spoken up, so both women turned to look at Geirr in mild surprise. "You must be joking. Surely you can't seriously mean to have this..._person_ accompany you as well!"

"I mean exactly that, and I assure you that I am entirely serious," Aurantha said mildly. "I have seen that there will be four on this journey, and I believe her to be the fourth."

"You've _seen_? You've seen her _break into your room _ as well; shouldn't your _actual senses _be used in your judgment, rather than some mystical dream?" Geirr said curtly. "Need I point out that this

scrawny wretch is a thief?"

"Why should I trust my visions less than my eyesight? I have rarely been led wrong by my visions, and the eyes can be so easily fooled. And though she did indeed break in here tonight, her goal was not to steal. Does she have any pockets? Does she carry with her a bag? I see neither on her person. Tell me, what sort of burglar has no means to carry her ill-gotten goods?"

He was visibly furious.

"Very well, _Lady._ I will retire to my room. I assume we still mean to leave at dawn...that is, if your throat has not been slit come the morning."

"I should hope it will not be. After all, I did hire a skilled guard, did I not?" she replied, her tone dry.

She regretted baiting him so; if his face was any redder he would surely burst a vein. And for all his rudeness, Sir Ruad did not speak without reason. She could not expect him to trust a vision he did not experience, nor was it silly of him to be distrustful of strangers. It was clearly his nature.

"I ask that you forgive his rude words," Aurantha said after he left the room.

"Nah, he's right. I don't get why yer so loose with trust. I sure as hell wouldn't trust myself in yer shoes. Hell, I don't trust you yet, anyways," the Selkie girl said, crossing her arms.

"That is...understandable. However, I do not feel as though my trust is misplaced. Does that mean that you decline?" Aurantha asked with a sigh.

"I...I don' know. Maybe? I guess...I'll think 'bout it some..." she nervously answered.

"We leave with the dawn. You will find us at the entrance to town...I believe you know the spot," Aurantha said, as if the girl had already agreed. Perhaps she had.

The girl turned to leave through the very window she had entered through, when one last question stopped her.

"Forgive me, but I nearly forgot one thing. What is your name?"

The Selkie paused, hesitant. Evidently she decided that it was safe enough to answer, for before she disappeared from sight, Aurantha clearly heard her say, "Izha Lul."


	12. Chapter 10: Battles of Words and Weapons

**Author's Note: **Wheeew. That was hectic. Sorry this one took so long, but I have actual legitimate reasons behind the wait this time. Two major events went down this August, you see. Two major, time consuming, hair raising events.

**One**, my sister got married. That right there killed a good few weeks. It was great, let me tell you, but it was also nerve wrecking and stressful as hell. It wasn't even a huge event - tiny by wedding standard - and it still managed to take over like half the month, what with planning and doing and dress shopping and meeting his family and hanging out with his family and the reception and oh my gosh what the hell happened to my summer?

**Two**, I started college. Wow. Y'know, it's really started to sink in that I am eighteen now. I have adult problems and responsibilities and all that crap. Let me tell you, part of me really misses seventeen. On the other hand, I can now do things like buy cigarettes and get tattoos. I don't want tattoos and I really, _really _don't want cigarettes, but THOSE OPTIONS ARE AVAILABLE TO ME. Oh yeah, and the actual college part. It's cool. Going to a small community college about fifteen minutes away from home. Basically like big high school, only with like no drama. Seriously, I walk down the halls and people are just reading or working on something or waiting for their classes. It's kind of weird, I don't think I've seen one fight or angst-filled break up or couples playing tonsil hockey in public. Coming out of a high school that is basically my city's largest hormonal cesspool, it's a bit of a shock.

So um wow, all those cool things I said last chapter about what would be going on this chapter? Whoops. I'm not entirely sure I like this chapter, but the only other option is skipping to the good stuff, and I haven't quite figured out the good parts yet, so...no magic plot teleportation, sorry. They'll have to walk.

Please, if you think that this chapter needs to have some major work done, give me advice. It seems either too slow or too rushed or too crappy in general. **Blegh. **I promise next chapter will have excitement and stuff, really! **  
**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**Battles of Words and Weapons  
**

The silence was neither peaceful nor empty. The silence was not the lack of speech on the part of the four travelers, but the overabundance of unease and distrust that rested so heavily upon us one could scarce believe it wasn't actually a tangible entity. Questions that were never voiced could be heard as clearly as if they had been shouted; insults left unspoken were as audible as the ever-present droning of insects, the only actual sound to be heard. The atmosphere around us seemed to grow heavier and more loaded with every half mile we walked, aggravated by the fact that the farther we traveled, the more humid the air became. As the sun was now nearly above them, the thick, humid heat only served to make already tense minds stew.

The pressure was building, but I did not know what to say. It was my responsibility, yet the words or actions that would soothe my tense comrades did not come to me.

For the first time in many years, I felt the aching of uncertainty.

Sir Ruad had yet to forgive me for embarrassing him last night. The implied slight had hit him hard, and was only aggravated by the presence of Izha Lul, who had been waiting for us as we departed Riversford. Considering that he still harbored deep bitterness and prejudices towards other tribes as well, he was surely seething. While he would never allow himself to physically harm those he had been charged to protect, the words that might spill from his angry tongue might very well do more damage to our frail fellowship than any wound.

Izha Lul stalked ahead of Terrand, Sir Ruad and I. She was never closer than ten feet from us, though whether this was subconscious or not I could not tell. The distrust in her eyes never waned, even for a second. She had agreed to lead us, as she claimed to be very familiar with the large flat of land between us and the Crystal City. She had not agreed to speak to us, or to offer conversation, or tell us about her origins. She had not agreed to trust us, for that was an agreement that she simply couldn't make.

Terrand was the most mild of the lot. He, too, could sense the conflict in the air, coiling like a serpent about to strike. His eyes would flick from person to person nervously, and at any sudden movement he twitched. By the way he appeared ready to duck for cover at the slightest sound, it was obvious that he was waiting for a brawl to break out, and wanted nothing to do with it. At times, however, even he grew weary of being timidly caught in between two fighters, and his expression showed disdain and contempt instead of fear. If a fight were to break out, and he managed to escape unharmed, he would surely gloat over his sore and battered companions about how he was above such childish, barbaric behavior. He was an artist, and believed himself above such crude acts, above prejudice, resentment, and bitterness.

And I allowed them to dwell on those negative thoughts, though I knew better. What, then, does that say about me? Where do I rank among them, as the one who was journeying to protect us all from disaster yet sat and watched it strike her own companions?

My only defense for my disgraceful inaction is that I feared provoking war too soon. If we could only spend a few more hours in each others company, surely it would make it all the more likely that we would remain together even after the inevitable confrontation broke out. A few more miles, and surely no one would decide to turn back and resume his normal life. I am no better than anyone, for I admit that line of reasoning was exploitative and unscrupulous. Even for a cause as vital as ours, such arrogance cannot be justified, for arrogance it is to assume that the good deeds I intend to be done are worth enough to erase any misdeeds I may commit along the way.

We may end up accomplishing all that I hope for and even more, ensuring the survival of our world and the preservation of thousands of lives, yet if I were to ruin the lives of these good people – or worse yet, lead them to unhappy and unfulfilled deaths – it would be a great tragedy and a great crime on my part.

The cheerful woodlands that had fenced in the farms of Riversford and other small towns had rapidly given way to sparse bushes and grasses. We made an evening camp, shivering as the moist heat of the day mysteriously turned into a damp chill. Dinner was a terse and miserable affair. I could only pray that a peaceful night's rest would serve to cool our heads. I prayed that we would somehow form the team that we would have to be to succeed. And I prayed that we would not shed each others' blood.

Before I could so much as rest my head, though, several things happened nearly at once.

Terrand was the one who had yelped, I am quite sure of that. The shout of warning could have only been Geirr. As I summoned a flame to relight the campfire, which had been snuffed out, I noticed that Izha Lul was missing. Sir Ruad was cursing loudly as he stood watch.

"I knew it!" he bellowed, noticing that I was awake. "Knew she was nothing but a filthy, lying vagrant!"

"What in the...she's gone!" Terrand exclaimed as he sat up, looking around in confusion.

I sighed. My prayers would not be answered the way I had hoped, it seemed. Trying not to show the disappointment and frustration I so dearly longed to give in to, I turned to the soldier for more details.

"I heard nothing. Did she leave any sort of message behind?" I asked, half-heartedly.

"The damned wretch doused the fire and skulked off. And...she made off with my best dagger as well," he said, an expression of shame crossing the Lilty's face as he realized that she had made a fool of him.

"Wait, your dagger?" Terrand piped up before I could press for more information. "Not gold or valuables?"

Geirr quickly checked our bags, noting with a great deal of surprise that they were untouched.

"Not even a single coin missing," he grunted, though his eyes belied his indifferent tone.

Terrand stood, brushing off his clothing as if he meant to make himself more presentable, though we were in the thick of the wilderness. He tilted his head thoughtfully and said, "Well, don't you think that's rather odd? Running off with just a dagger when she could have easily left us penniless and destitute?"

I looked at the poet thoughtfully, but did not speak. He made an excellent point. Jumping to conclusions would do nothing beneficial to us whatsoever.

Geirr disagreed.

"What," he said dryly, with a hint of a sneer, "you honestly think that she has honorable intentions?"

"It's possible," Terrand defended, adjusting his glasses in what was apparently a nervous reflex. "I-I mean, she didn't even touch the gil. She could have slipped away with the entire bag, off into the night with us none the wiser."

The Lilty rolled his eyes and replied, "Don't be a fool. Her kind doesn't know the meaning of trustworthy. A Selkie'd as soon slit your throat as give you the time of day, if it meant a little coin."

"Or maybe you're just a paranoid bigot!" Terrand snapped, his timid nature lost along with his patience. "You Lilties don't approve of anyone other than your own imperious, supremacist selves!"

"Stop this now!" I inserted, trying to prevent catastrophe. It was as successful as if I was not even present. Despite my efforts, their voices were becoming louder and more violent, the insults more personal and cruel.

"At least I'm not a damned dirt-loving peasant with no ambition to match a lack of potential!" came the caustic retort. "So naïve and weak-minded! Never stopped to think that maybe the guttersnipe stole the dagger so she could sneak back and slit our throats? Leave no witnesses before making off with the goods?"

If I did not stop them, blood would be spilled.

"Cease and desist, or I shall stop you myself. Please, do not force my hand," I begged.

"Oh, because you're so much wiser and more fit to walk the earth! Why don't you people just take over and get rid of all us unworthy dregs? Ah, yes," Terrand sneered, waving his arm dramatically as he spoke, "you tried, didn't you? The most spectacular failure of a war the world has ever known! What's the size of the Lilty empire these days? How grand is her army? A thousand thousand silver spears, the poets of yore used to say, but looking at you I'd say the modern day version is more like three score and one hundred dulled blades. An empire held together by dust and rust and scraps of glory long dead, isn't that right? A soldier like you? Nothing more than the embarrassing reminders of a golden age you couldn't even achieve."

Geirr was going to snap. I could see it in his eyes that this was too much, Terrand had gone too far. Trying to salvage the situation at this point was like fighting my way upstream a raging river, and my hope of a peaceful resolution had soured into despondency heavy as lead, weighing me down further.

I grabbed my staff. There would be no bloodshed. It bit at me that it had come to this, that everything had gone to dust so early in our journey. I had not started, yet I had failed.

No, that could not be. It would not be, not while I had life still in this body and breath in my lungs.

Geirr's armored hand was clenched, his face so full of rage it was almost reminiscent of a nightmarish mask meant to scare children. I readied a spell, silently wishing for forgiveness even as I prepared.

Yet all was still. His face slackened, falling into a neutral expression as distant and emotionless as any statue. He took his spear and stood slightly away from camp, walking the perimeter but making no sound.

Sleep did not come easily to any of us that night. I hoped they would be more willing to forgive in the morning, once rest had calmed their anger.

Still, I was plagued by the uneasy knowledge that I was at fault.

All seemed clear enough. Not a twig out of place, to most people. The night was still, calm. Wind felt nice, helped get rid of the creeping mist. It was fairly bright away from the campfire, too; the stars glinted and glimmered with the gibbous moon, the silvery light popping out from behind the swiftly moving clouds.

Still, she had a bad feeling. She grabbed a dagger – much better than her dull old knife; the Lilty had a fine taste in blades – and snuffed the fire, taking her leave. No use bringing them along; they'd slow her down. They didn't know these wilds like she did. They didn't speak the language, know the signs and smells that told her of current events as clearly as a poster in one of their cities.

The bugs were chirping nice and loud. No birds, though. That was the first clue. No small mammals, either, she realized once she started poking around. There were burrows, but no critters running around in search of food. There were nests, but they were empty. Nothing recent. A place like this, far from a town and off the beaten path, seemingly devoid of life save for insects?

Yeah, she knew what that meant. She raced back to camp, hoping that she wouldn't find a massacre waiting for her.

"Wake up."

She had hoped that one of the useful ones'd be on watch when she got back. 'Stead it was the writer. She wasn't even sure why he bothered tagging with; didn't seem his sort of thing. Not only did he not have a weapon, the fool was damn close to nodding off. It wasn't even an hour till dawn. He seemed to shift a little, his eyes bleary and his expression clearly confused.

"Oh," he mumbled, his head leaning to and fro as if he couldn't hold it up right. "It's just you...wait." His eyes focused a little more, becoming more alert. "You're back? What on earth were you doing?"

"Scouting," she said tersely, her eyes narrowing.

"Oh. That makes sense..." he said, yawning. He started to shift to a more comfortable position, before Izha Lul slapped him.

"Said _wake up_, stupid," she hissed, glaring at his startled and put out expression. "This is 'portant. Get up an' wake the Yuke-lady. I got the Lilty. 'S trouble."

Izha Lul then left him, ignoring his attempt to ask more stupid questions. She had no time for it. The Lilty was a bit away from the others. No surprise to her that he favored pride over self-protection. Safety in numbers, or hadn't he heard? Least he kept his spear handy.

Had another dagger 'neath his pillow, too. She found that out trying to get him up, only to be greeted by it pressing into her stomach.

"_You,_" he said with disdain, although he kept his expression neutral. She couldn't help but be impressed. She'd obviously not given him due credit – he slept light and his reflexes were good an' deadly. "What are you doing back here?"

"Get up an' keep yer weapon with ya. Did some scouting 'round. There're monsters about," she said, giving him a neutral expression in return. The dagger was plenty sharp, but she wasn't fazed. He'd have gutted her already if he was planning on doing it at all.

His glare carried plenty of suspicion and distrust, but he wasn't fool enough to ignore a real threat. He sheathed the weapon and picked up his spear.

"You're positive?" he questioned, his suspicion still present but his tone all business.

She nodded. They joined Terrand and the lady around the campfire, which was close to dying out. The Lilty quickly got it going, as dawn was still some time off. Over a quick breakfast of traveler's bread, she gave the other two the same warning.

Just in time, too. They all heard that snapping sound, and it didn't come from the fire. Neither did that growl; it sounded like it was off in an entirely different direction. And those two glints of light, just outside the campfire's glow were in a third spot.

Pack hunters, whatever they were. Izha Lul spat on the ground with a curse, and squeezed the borrowed dagger in her right hand.

"...Well, damn," Terrand said, shortly before all hell broke loose.

Claws and teeth, scales and eyes that glowed from the firelight – was that her blood or theirs? Hers wasn't that greenish, but her arm hurt like hell. She hoped it felt the same way as her dagger caught the beast right below its ribs and exited its slimy, misshapen body a few inches from the hip. Its death throws knocked her to the ground, but she rolled with the fall and sprang to her feet.

Terrand was cornered by one shadow-thing, until it burst into flames, shrieking as it died. Another snuck up behind the lady as she fired the spell; Terrand's word of warning was just a hair too late. She turned as quickly as she could, but it managed to slice at her side with a lethal set of claws. There was no time to cast another spell, as the other arm was primed to slash at her throat. One second it was moving, the next it was on the ground, its head bleeding, and the Lilty's spear insured it would not rise again. Izha Lul noted the green stain on the lady's staff with approval.

She had no time to approve anything. The Selkie ducked the first swipe, but had the wind knocked from her chest by another blow – she could not tell if it was a tail or another limb that had hit her. Her dagger was ready, but nothing landed – the creature had moved.

She spun, not wanting to be caught unawares, but there was no need. She found it twitching on the Lilty's spear, the body not aware that was already dead.

It was quiet, save for heavy breathing and the hiss of the dying beasts.

"I have not seen such creatures before." Izha Lul looked up. It was the Yuke lady who had broken the silence. "I have heard of a great deal of monstrous beasts that plagued the wilds, but never have I had the misfortune to meet any."

They collected their wits and began to clean up, dumping the bodies off to the side, changing clothing as needed, dressing wounds that were too minor to waste healing magic on. Geirr respectfully cleaned his spear as he sat with the others by the fire once more.

"They're usually less bold. Campfires generally keep away most beasts, like wolves. To attack a group of four sitting by a fire...is odd," Geirr said, his voice perplexed, yet solemn.

"These ain't wolves. Wolves are natural. These things..." Izha Lul began, before trailing off.

"Not natural? That's...hm, actually, I think I read something similar to that once. There are some scholars who research wild beasts and such, and they do tend to classify monsters separately from most fauna. There are..._theories_, some rather ridiculous, concerning how magic and people affect the natural world..." Terrand piped up.

"It is true. These are not natural creatures. Look and see," the lady spoke, pointing to the twisted and bloody remains they had pushed away from the campfire, "they are already decomposing."

It was true, the bodies seemed to melt away into the shadows, leaving only skeletons behind.

"I was taught that they are born of the darkness in the world. They are the living embodiment of

foul magic and twisted souls. In times of peace, such corrupted beasts were hardly ever seen."

"It's not so bad, these days...is it?" Terrand asked, slightly unnerved.

"It is hardly the worst of times," the Yuke said with what seemed like laughter in her voice.

"Monsters haven't been a major problem in years," Geirr said. "Don't know why they're so jumpy now."

Although her face was covered, it was nonetheless obvious that the Yuke woman became tense and uneasy at his words. Her little wings drooped, her hands gripped each other tightly, and her pose was stiff. She lowered her head, but said nothing.

Izha Lul understood, and did not ask.


	13. Chapter 11: Hope Lost, Hope Found

**AN: **I can't tell you how many times I've written, deleted, and rewritten versions of this chapter. I've been hitting block after block when it comes to this story - not writer's block, but plot block. The problem is in the _why. _I know what happened; that's all in the game. But _why?_ The various plot points in the game are all fine and well when explained with video game logic, but what about story logic? So they all go to the desert to set the holy element in place - wait, why the hell would they do that? I've only vaguely hinted that Leuda has _posssibly_ been established at this point in time. Why would they go on a journey that would probably take weeks on board a ship to a desert island that may or may not be settled yet? Why there, specifically? There are plenty of places equally barren of life and people, plenty of places out of the way enough to be a good area to store this spell. Why there? How do they even know that island? Or do they not get there on purpose? If so, how do they get there accidentally? Shipwrecking is so...ugh, don't want to use that trope. And then they wouldn't be able to get back, either. ARGHLEDKLFJSK it doesn't make any sense, and as I've tried to make it very clear that the characters are neither stupid nor insane there is no reason why they would do something that made no sense and would waste so much time and so many resources.

And Leuda is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to sorting out conflicting and nonsensical plot points. Argh. Rebena Te Ra - how does it fit in? Well, I've gone into some detail here as to what the hell is up with that place, but there's so much more. Also, I've tried to reconcile some elements of Ring of Fates in with the original game just to add a little more flesh to the bones of the history here. Plus, is there any reason to go into detail on Rebena Te Ra? Or would it be a massive waste of time, as it won't have anything to do with the main plot? On the other hand, to get to the Great Crystal they have to basically go through there or through Conall Curach, and Izha Lul ain't taking them through Conall Curach. But I've skipped over most of the travel in this chapter, because many of the Chapter 11s that didn't make the cut involved MORE TIME ON THE ROAD TO THE CRYSTAL CITY and it was so tedious I fell asleep, and I'm the one writing this train wreck. One chapter of that was enough. Really. I've spent so much on fluff and so little on plot I decided to screw it and just make them arrive at the city already. So if you think they got there too quickly, whatever. They've spent many more days walking and fighting monsters, I just didn't go into detail on it.

Honestly, I beg your forgiveness for taking this long, but it's been constantly on my mind. Arguing in my head. Are the CC forums here active? Because it would go a lot faster if I had some people to ramble to. I need to bounce some ideas off of people's heads. However that would involve spoilers. Meh. It's not like there are thousands of people eagerly waiting for the next installment of this thing, I suppose. Ugh this not is getting pathetic, I'm not fishing for compliments here so don't go there. I'm fishing for constructive criticism. Please. This thing needs all the help it can get. Do it for the characters' sakes if nothing else, because at this point the most logical route I've thought up for the plot involves major character deaths.

Maybe I'll do another one-shot some time, I've heard that helps clear heads tangled with broken plots.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**Hope Lost, Hope Found**

_It was some time later that they finally reached the mountains where the city of the Great Crystal stood. Every day that they spent traveling was one precious day lost. There were already too few remaining before it happened. Each night the dreams were worse, and each day the atmosphere grew more tense. The monsters grew ever more wild, ever more bold. They attacked in broad daylight, a phenomenon not seen since the last war. _

_ There was so much left to do, and yet there was so much she did not yet know. _

_ "Please, you must flee! Join us, for there is so little time left! It is not safe here, you must all run! Pack what you can, take what you must, and follow us! I swear this to you: I have seen the destruction of this city. Nothing we do can change that outcome. What you can change is whether or not you are here when the cataclysm arrives!"_

_ "What cataclysm? What destruction? This is the sacred mountain. The Great Crystal shall protect us from harm, as it has always done. I have heard of you, Aurantha of Shella, but we are the descendants of the blessed city, Rebena Te Ra, the only ones to remain true to the crystal's light. Our lives are recorded within its prisms, and we shall live out those bathed in its glow!"_

_ "The Great Crystal shall be destroyed, and its shards thrown in every direction. Please, I beg of you! Save yourselves! Please! If not for your sake, for your children! For those you love!" she begged. _

_ Many heeded her words, for her reputation preceded her. Others knew simply that she was of great importance, and believed her for her intense earnestness, the tears that fell from beneath her visor._

_ Others, however, had never heard of her, or chose to put their trust in what was familiar rather than what was not. For the Crystal had indeed always protected them from every harm. After the fall of the kingdom of Rebena Te Ra, those who dwelt in its most prestigious city other than its capitol, the city of the Crystal, survived and lived in harmony. To them, it was almost as if the kingdom still thrived, for its prosperity and unity still lived on in that one place._

_ The next dawn, the four of them left, accompanied by a scant thousand others, only roughly half the city. With a heavy heart, they fled. _

_.  
_

. * * *.

.

"We must not stop yet! Please, you must keep walking. We are too close, **it** is too close, there is not enough time that we dare rest!"

Her voice was hoarse and cracking from exhaustion and the dry air. Around her, weary faces struggled to meet her gaze and follow her words, but the toll of their desperate pace was etched into every dripping pore, every early wrinkle, every bloodshot eye. They physically could not last much longer without a full night's rest, and so too were they exhausted emotionally, and not even fear could spur them much farther.

The strongest among them, her companions among them, urged the tired crowd onward as well. Terrand worked wonders, his skill with words charming the crowd into feeling a little more hope, a little more strength. Silent Izha Lul motivated them with her actions, never stopping and never complaining for the harsh travel. Even Geirr showed more compassion here than he had ever displayed in her memory; he had carried a child for the last ten minutes so that the weary mother could have a respite.

As the child slept, drooping over his shoulders, he walked closer.

"Pray, prophetess. The sky's burnt red at the horizon already; it will be a miracle if we all survive the blast, so little distance we've made," he said, his face devoid of his trademark anger and prejudice, for he had no energy left for hate. His whisper was calm and quiet, not only to keep the babe from waking but because it was not made out of cynicism, merely as a statement of fact.

"He's probably correct," Terrand piped in. She had not noticed him approach, but then she had little energy left for alertness. "We have just barely left the mountain, and there is nothing to shield us," he said more quietly, noticing the child murmuring with dismay at his comment.

"Shield us..." Geirr repeated, frowning with thought. "My grandfather fought in the war...in the battle for Shella."

They were silent, waiting for him to explain the random anecdote.

"He said that not a single bolt or catapult shot made a clean hit. Not one. The city stood completely undamaged by the end of the day, amidst a battlefield of rubble and destruction around it...the lake above it was black with char and dust from the aftermath, but the city was untouched. He swore to us that he even saw a boulder simply...bounce off the air above the city, and others crumble as if they struck an invisible mountain," he continued.

"Yes, that is true...but surely you cannot be suggesting..?" the wizened Yuke replied, looking oddly perplexed.

"Can you? Surely you know of that spell, with your position. Can you do it?" he asked bluntly.

.

.* * *.

.

_ "The crystal is our only hope," _her voice said, but she was not speaking. _"The crystals are our only hope, and they are dying."_

She knew this was important, but she could not remember why.

_"They are dying, and we will follow. The cycle has been broken and forged anew in corruption. We need it back."_

The words rang with conviction, but they meant nothing to her.

_"Life for life. Hope for hope. It is a fair trade, do you not agree?" _came another voice, one definitely not her own. She knew there was gold and darkness, but all she could see was light.

_"See? I am not such a monster, Mio, for I would never seek their utter destruction. Why, I want them. I need them. They shall live, all of them, and I will taste the sweetness of the lives they live in this new age, the age that gave birth to me!"_

_ "Life for life, hope for hope, light for light. Pain begets ever more pain. But so hope begets hope, light begets light, life begets life. Live, and make hope. Break his cycle, and forge the new in hope."_

She knew this was important, but she could not remember why.

She knew it was her own voice, but she did not remember saying it.

She knew there was darkness, but she did not know how she knew.

All she could remember was the light, and the ghost of voices she did not know.

.

.* * *.

.

The child hiccuped, indicating that he was awake and did not want to be carried by a stranger any longer. Aurantha was glad for the few seconds of silence granted her in the time it took for the child to be reunited with his mother, for she did not wish to give Geirr her answer. It was only a few second's respite, though, for all to soon the two men were staring at her, their eyes all bleakness and hope and demand. Even Izha Lul was looking over, as if she sensed that this was something worth paying attention to.

"I...do know of the spell. It is very ancient, one of Shella's most precious treasures, most guarded secrets...and yes, it has that power. Perhaps it even has power enough to withstand a corrupt star striking the earth," Aurantha began, but not even weariness could explain the resigned note to her speech. "But its cost is great. Were I fifteen years younger, I could still not cast it alone. For that fateful battle, the spell was cast by a score of our most accomplished mages, with another score of their most promising students adding their strength and assisting the elders. Even then, many were bedridden for days after from the fatigue, their magic nearly completely drained. One...was lost forever, for he had given more energy to the spell then his aged body had to spare. I do not know how many in our company have any gift whatsoever for magic, let alone the number of those who are very skilled and well practiced."

There was no reply for a moment, and once again the only sound was the shuffling of clothing and bags, set to the tempo of relentlessly plodding feet.

"I refuse to march ourselves to death if our death is inevitable regardless," Terrand declared suddenly, stopping. "I see very little point in useless tasks! The only remaining option, therefore, is to do something that is useful!"

"Come off it, man, what are you -" Geirr began, trying to grab the Clavat's arm before he did something even more mad. Terrand brushed him off, the soldier far too shocked and confused by the outburst to put much effort in his grip.

"Good people of the Great Crystal!" he shouted, having found himself a rock to stand on. The weary throng turned at him. Some were puzzled, while others were too tired to show surprise. Others looked confused at the very thought of something other than walking forward, as it felt as if that was all they had done for a lifetime or two.

"My life, my companion's lives, the lives of each and every one of you, and the lives of your children all depend upon one thing: escaping the wrath of the falling star! We cannot keep going at this pace, for it will kill us as surely as the blast would – yet if we do not somehow put many, many more miles between us and the city, we are surely doomed."

There was murmuring and grunting, dissension and anger and confused sorrow all emenating from the crowd.

"There is one last hope, and it relies on every man, woman and child skilled with the gift of magic. If you have any training in wizardry and spellwork, come forward. If you have any ability in alchemy or sorcery, come forward. If you are not a master, have never had formal study, yet still have the ability, step forward, for we need you. If you can so much as make a lump of magicite glow in your hand, step forward, for every last bit of power is needed! "

"I am an enchanter by trade."

"We run – we used to run the Healing House."

"Mama doesn't like it, but papa says I'm great with fire!"

"The secret behind why my fruit was always the freshest in town? The magicite charm me grandad passed down keeps 'em cold all the way from tree to market. Streak o' magery in this common farmer's line, how's about that?"

"Er, I was studying magic, but I've never actually cast so much as a cantrip yet...I'll try, though."

As Terrand shot a grin at the bemused Shellan elder, she felt a spark of hope deep within her. More and more people stepped forward, until well over thirty people had gathered, at least ten of which were moderately to highly trained in some branch of magic. Yukes and Clavats and Selkies of all ages gathered before them – one little Lilty girl even joined the group, until her embarrassed mother pulled her away.

"It is not enough to create a shield for an entire city...but perhaps it is enough for the survivors of that city, all of those willing to leave their homes for the sake of their lives. They were willing to take that chance if it meant survival, so we must not let them die now," Aurantha murmured, something like a smile crossing her hidden face.

With a lightness to her spirit she could not have believed an hour earlier, she set about instructing them about their task.

They were not much, certainly not forty of Shella's elite mages. But they would have to be enough. Their hope would beget more hope, she would see to that.


	14. Chapter 12: The Cycle Corrupted

__I have no excuse for how late this is. All I can say is that I am so sorry. The good news is that I've figured things out, and I know how it is going to continue and end now. If anyone still cares, that is, and after a _year _I wouldn't be at all surprised if no one does. I am so sorry.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Cycle Corrupted, The Lock on the Door  
**

_"Mother?"_

_ "Yes, little one?"_

_ "What is death?"_

_ A pause. All was silent, save the gentle crackling of the fire._

_ "Death is the final, and yet also first, stage in the cycle of life, __my love."_

_ "But how can it be both at the same time?"_

_ "It is called a cycle for life and death are irreversibly entwined, a circle that forever turns but never ends."_

_ "If life doesn't end, then where is Grandfather? What has happened to him? He is gone.__"_

_ "Death is the stage where we all must leave the form of life we have become accustomed to, and thus many see it as the end of life, a break in that circle. He is not gone, darling – his life is in us all now. In his life, he gave us many happy memories,__ and through our memories, he has life."_

_ "Then where is he, if he is alive?"_

_ "All life ends, and those memories pool in the endless facets of the Great Crystal. And all life is born again, renewed within that pool. As we live, we gather memories, and when we die those memories give birth to new life. The energy of life flows throughout our world, starting and ending in the memories shimmering in the Crystal's light. One day we will meet your grandfather again, with all the spirits of those long past – alive in the world, flowing and overflowing as part of that stream of energy, and alive as memories, little embers that never quite fade away."_

_remember_

can't wake up

_please remember_

am I even asleep?

**Forget.**

The cycle of the world had been broken. The Great Crystal was shattered, and in that instant the pattern of life and death that had governed the world since the beginning was forever altered. At once, the energy that flowed through the lands like a river of life was halted – the river's current stopped, its source gone.

Little 'pools' of life held out in little corners of the world, mere puddles left over when the river went dry. In those few havens the people of the world huddled, clinging to what warmth and protection they could find.

It is no coincidence that those havens popped up wherever a shard of the Great Crystal landed. When it was shattered, its pieces were scattered far and wide. Broken and weak, they still held some of its power, and while the flow of life was broken, those crystal shards would gather and hold as much of that energy within them as they could.

For a time, people thought they could live that way, that all would be well again eventually. They rebuilt towns and cities around those shards, and those towns and cities survived. The survivors of the Crystal City formed an entirely new province, a place governed by the people rather than a monarchy, a place that any person of any tribe could call home. The Yukes of Shella mourned the loss of their grand and ancient homeland for a time, but they quickly rebuilt. New Shella was less than a day's travel on foot from the old city, and it grew to be as beautiful and powerful a place as the old, a city of waterfalls and rivers, high towers and magical bridges, all bathed in the calming green light of their shard. The strong and proud king of Alfitaria would not abandon the heart of his empire – instead, in a display of the might and power of the Lilty army, he had a shard _brought _to the city. It took a team of engineers and the strongest soldiers in the land to find a way to bring the giant rock home, but they did it. Selkies came and went – many were seen returning to the sea, to a mysterious new home that no outsider had ever seen. Many of the peaceful Clavats remained in their lowland by the river, creating sprawling farm towns wherever they could.

For a time, they could pretend that everything was the way it should be.

_everything is wrong_

_don't let_ him

**Not wrong. Different. Perfect.**

**Perfect for me. **

I can't breathe

It was midday, and the light was harsh – far too harsh given the time of year, for it was only spring. Two days ago, they had parted ways from the remainder of the city refugees, who had decided to find a place to settle. They had remained at the ancient crossroads north of the ruins of Rebena Te Ra.

Aurantha had declared that their task was far from complete.

"There is more to be done…much more," the Yuke sighed, leaning heavily on her staff as she gazed at the smoking, smoldering horizon which had once been a sacred mountain. "The impact was only the beginning. It was…I feel as though the impact was merely the breaking of the gates, to let the army inside."

"And what army would that be, exactly? What are we to fight? Star men? Or demons? I've heard you mention fell spirits here and there. I'm a fine soldier and I've sworn to protect you, Lady, but I cannot face an army," Geirr said. His voice was grim, but there was a layer of respect to it that had become more apparent since the refugees had left. "Even if we were triple our current number, I doubt that we would stand a chance against an army of the flesh-and-blood – if our enemy is something of smoke and spirit, what could I do?"

"And I, well, I'm no fighter, you all know that. I barely know which end of a sword to hold, let alone what to do with it. I'm all eager to go along and record what we've done so far, and I'm sure it will be quite the tale – but I shouldn't like to have it end with our grisly deaths," Terrand added quickly, looking extremely anxious and just a little embarrassed, shifting his posture and glancing about furtively. The ordeal had been very taxing on him – that much was obvious to anyone. In fact, privately both Geirr and Izha Lul wondered if it was taxing him _too _much, if he was going to crack. Geirr rolled his eyes and glanced away as the Clavat spoke.

"Your concerns are…valid. We face a great deal of danger. But as for this army…I do not know. I was speaking in metaphor – or I meant to be. In truth, I do not know for certain. There could indeed be some sort of army, or perhaps the danger is something less tangible," Aurantha replied, spreading her feathery hands in apology, or exasperation, or both. "All I know for certain is that while there is a great danger to us if we proceed, things are even darker and more terrible if we do not. Darker and more terrible than I have words to describe."

"Yes, well, perhaps I've had enough of dark and terrible, though!" Terrand snapped. He began to pace, one hand at his hip and the other at his forehead, as if it could hold back his thoughts. "I don't remember signing up for certain doom, you know."

"Then why did you even come?" Geirr drawled, crossing his arms and staring expectantly at the writer.

"I don't know! I just – I don't know. I didn't exactly plan for it. I suppose I thought it would make a fine old tale, and I could retire the happy author of this generation's finest story, or something along those lines. I didn't really think it through," Terrand said, visibly deflated. He immediately stopped pacing and instead stood with his shoulders slumped and his head turned toward the ground as if it was the most interesting thing to look at. "I've always been a bit impulsive."

Geirr was momentarily taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. It was almost amusing the way the grizzled warrior searched for an appropriate way to respond.

"Impulsive has a bad way of getting you killed," he finally replied, though his voice was not accusing this time.

"So does sittin' around like prey. Sometimes ya just gotta act, prove yer not so weak after all."

They both looked up, surprised. Sometimes it was easy for the two men to forget Izha Lul. She used her words wisely and rarely, and tended to blend in with her surroundings wherever she went. Of course, part of that was her muddied and stained skins, as both her own skin and those she wore tended to absorb the colors of the land around her.

"I do not believe that any of you are weak," Aurantha said, thoughtful. "There is something stronger than impulse at play here. Perhaps the only word for it is fate, though that implies that you had no choice, and I do not believe that. My gift of Sight has allowed me to truly appreciate the power that choice truly has, for those choices determine the very world around us, now and in the future. I believe…"

She stopped, wheezing a little.

"Are you all right?" Terrand asked, stepping closer. The wizened Yuke waved him off.

"Yes, I am fine. For a moment, though, it felt like…wait," she started, trailing off. She turned around suddenly, looking back at the way they came from.

"What is it?" Geirr asked, shifting to an alert stance.

"The army. It is coming on the wind," she whispered.

"What are you talking about? There's nothing th-"

The Lilty coughed a little, his eyes watering. When his spasm faded, he silently followed her gaze to the northwest.

"What's happening?" he slowly asked, his tone low and cautious.

Izha Lul crouched, raising a hand to cover her mouth and nose.

"There's somethin' wrong with this wind, all right. S'not the smoke smell you'd expect, somethin' else. Sorta like…sorta like the swamp. Like death," she hissed, eyes wide.

"I remember this feeling…" Aurantha whispered. "In my vision, it was worse, but I…"

She ceased talking. One hand gently held her golden helmet, while the other took hold of the crystal that hung decoratively from its right side, near where her ear would be.

"These two are of the same sort as the Great Crystal...they were found in a mine not too far from the city. Many keep them for their mystic properties, and they have a connection to the Great Crystal itself, for all such crystals were once one at the world's birth," she said, in an odd voice that was only half directed towards her three companions. She raised the small crystal high, and there was something about the way it sparkled that the group found reassuring.

"We have to go back. The crystals will protect us as we approach the heart of the corruption. We cannot halt the flow, but I know there is something else we must do."

_so many lost_

_the embers faded, devoured_

**A welcome feast to celebrate my birth.**

_but you must remember_

_don't let _him_ take it from you_

Remember what?

_it can be defeated_

_but too many memories, too much lost now_

_not until enough has recovered_

_not until those memories that burn _

_burn __bright enough that _he_ feels that light_

**They will be delectable. I will welcome that day – it is no threat to me.**

_so bright he can't take them away_

_remember _

_please don't forget_

_remember_

_your memories glow so kindly, so golden, so gentle_

**Yes, come to me, Seer, so that I may feast on those golden memories of yours.**

**You will forget. They will forget. Your story shall fade to nothing in time.**

_enough will survive_

_the cycle of life_

_flow of memories_

_they will seek the water of life_

_don't let _him_ take them_

_let them flow_

_let the cycle be born anew _

_find them where they grow_

What must I do?

_life to life_

_memory to memory_

_they fade, the cycle broken_

_they are seeds, cast aside_

_a new cycle is sown_

_it is _his _doing, his feast_

_a cycle of remembering pain_

_a cycle of forgetting the past_

_it feeds _him

_but it will be _his _undoing_

_don't let _him _take them_

_let them fade _

_let them grow_

_they will seek the water of life_

But what must I do?

_remember_

It was the same scene as they had left it, but a thousand times worse. A twisted, nightmare landscape, torn and broken and blackened earth that was harsh and jagged and bare of life. Stony knives clawed at the clouded, ash-choked sky, the only remains of the mountain that had once been so tall and grand. Deep gouges scarred the earth, opening up to deep pits that oozed and leaked like the wounds they were, never to heal but always raw and bleeding. Everywhere was clouded with the murky haze that poured from those wounds, making the air shimmer in that putrid purple-gray, the color of a wicked bruise. A few shards of crystals remained, at least crystals of a sort – but they had no glow, no sparkle, and no life, and were disconcertingly bloody in color. In the shadows were shapes that moved and writhed and hissed unnatural noises, always just out of direct sight, so that none of the four could tell whether they were the angry spirits of those who would not leave, or horrific beasts that were all too alive.

They stood in the narrowest point of the pass that led between the valley lands south and the ruined mountain ahead. What had once been a pleasant road leading up the mountain was now a dark and jagged path between imposing cliffs and gaping chasms, very nearly a tunnel. Already the haze, the _miasma_, swirled in and out of the pass, the terrain forming a terrible funnel that screeched with the force of the wind.

The crystals hummed with energy and life, wrapping protectively around the four like a bubble of safety. No matter how fiercely the miasma whirled and raged around them, it could not pierce that shield.

Aurantha stood forward, holding one of her two precious crystals forward while the group waited behind with the second.

Just as little pools of life were formed at the destruction of the river of life, so too were dry spots formed, places far out of the reach of the crystal's glow. Places like this, where the miasma could swirl and pool and strengthen, though no other would be as formidable as this, the door to the heart of the corruption.

This door required a lock.

_'I remember,' _Aurantha thought to herself. _'I remember what must be done. I remember what will be forgotten – for a time. Let it fade, not be taken, for if it fades…the memory will be reborn.__'_

The crystal she held glowed brightly as she let loose a stream of arcane chanting, culminating in a flash of light as she plunged the crystal into the tainted ground. The light intensified, and everything

faded

to gold.


	15. Chapter 13: In Memory

Some time passed since the cataclysm, a little over a year. Within the light of the crystals the people relaxed, ignoring the menacing changes of the world around them. At first, no one noticed the changes at all. They had been so busy rebuilding that there was next to no travel, no one daring to leave the safe havens for long. They did notice, however, that the few who did leave their city returned quickly, claiming sickness had forced them to turn back. Outside the safe havens the world did look sick – the ground grew less and less fertile, the sun more bleak and unforgiving, the water less clear and sweet, the animals outside grew more scarce, monsters cropped up everywhere, and even the air seemed to have an odd haze. Over the course of that year, those changes grew more severe.

The Clavats of the Fum Plain were the first to feel the corruption's sting. Being a sprawling network of small villages and vast farms that shared many smaller crystals, it wasn't uncommon for communication to take some time. However, one of the smaller outlying farms had been unresponsive for weeks, and the central town sent a team to investigate. The farther from the crystals the investigators got, the more uneasy they felt. Near the boundary mark of the silent farm, they felt an odd prickle on their skin.

All around was that odd haze in the air.

A few yards down the road, two bodies lay shriveled in the oddly swirling air. What was left of their skin was a horrible mess – the investigators knew of no weapon or beast that could flay a person to such a state. It was partly like the work of voracious, swarming insects, but also like the burn a fierce fire would leave, and a little like the scourging given by a desert storm. A little ways behind the wagon was left to rot, the grisly remains of the papaopamus still tethered in. Four bodies were inside, one driving. They were in knotted, curling positions, ruined hands clutching at their throats. The two in front had clearly abandoned the vehicle, attempting to run – from what?

The prickle on their skin was back, and stronger.

One of the investigators began to cough, followed by another. The prickle was getting worse, turning into an itch, a burn, like something clawing at them from the outside, and every breath was like inhaling shattered glass.

The group turned and ran like hell with every breath they had left.

The outer farms that still stood were evacuated, all the people of Fum gathering towards whatever crystal was closest. They were the first to feel the sting of the corruption, but the other havens were soon to follow.

The period of grace was over.

The crystals were dying.

Their only choice was to send out expeditions, armed with smaller chunks of crystal, to find a cure while there was still time.

One group, hoping to reclaim answers from their ancestral Shellan home, found a strange, wondrous site in the wreckage of Old Shella: a mysterious glowing tree. Like a crystal, the tree had an aura of light and purity that warded off the vicious miasma that plagued their world. To their amazement, the tree grew brighter as their small crystal approached it. When one explorer tentatively brought the gem beneath the gently swaying fronds, what appeared to be a dewdrop of pure light fell from the glowing branches, splashing onto the crystal, which immediately seemed brighter and more full of life than it ever had been.

A new cycle of a sort had been born. Memories formed and were lost – but some never quite faded away, instead becoming seeds of life.

Far from those nervous first steps of a newborn civilization, a group of four gathered below what was once a mountain, carrying all the untainted crystal shards they had managed to protect.

.

.

.

The golden light woke her, but when Aurantha opened her eyes there was nothing of light to be found.

It was a hell like she had never before seen, terrible and ugly, yet strangely beautiful in its twisted majesty. As horrible as the landscape had been months ago when the meteor first struck, it had been transformed into something that no longer even resembled the world she knew. The fire and fury of the meteor's landing had been replaced with a quiet chill that sucked away sound and light and life. The bleeding brown and black colors of the once green mountain had turned into a gray, dusty terrain, lined with deep cracks and ravines that stretched into the heart of the earth, and walled with tall spikes of jutting bedrock exposed from the impact.

There was a wind – she could feel it on her exposed face – but the air was unnaturally still. She was outside, yet the air was stale and dead.

She was alone, yet she could feel prying eyes from every angle.

It was silent, yet she could _feel_ the world screaming, just beyond her range of hearing.

The air was hazy, thick, and deadly, yet she could see every detail of the ruined world in perfect, terrible clarity.

For a moment, or an eternity, it remained like that. Still and silent, the world was little more than a painting, depicting a scene that did not live or change with time. She could not tell if she was part of that scene or merely an observer.

"He is still weak. We have to work while he is still weak from his birth. We can't…"

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was mildly surprised to hear her own voice. She did not recall thinking the words that had emerged from her throat, or feel them form on her tongue.

She did not recall having anyone to speak with in the first place.

The painting shifted – or was it her own head that turned to glance behind? – and three figures stood before her.

They looked at her expectantly, but she stood still, and did not speak again for some time.

"I don't…" one spoke, the taller man. "This isn't…but…why…?"

The man turned to his side, and Aurantha noticed the woman sitting, seemingly relaxed – no, not relaxed, exhausted. Her usually icy eyes were wide, but not out of alertness – they were the eyes of a lost child, confused and bewildered.

For a moment, Aurantha was startled out of her stupor by the realization that there was no fight left in the Selkie woman. She had never seen her let her guard down – _had she ever seen her before at all? _ Yes, of course she had – yet this was wrong, all wrong…

"It has to go here. I know that," Aurantha spoke, her voice urgent for reasons that she couldn't quite recall.

**Know what?**

She should have been startled, but somehow, that expression of life and emotion was also taken from her, replaced by a slower, muted fear that gnawed at her from within. The voice was deep and resonant, and seemed to come from the heart of the black pit that gaped in the distance. Or, perhaps, it came from within her – she felt so hollow, perhaps that voice was resonating inside her empty shells? Nothing else felt as real as the dark words that washed over and inside her.

Why was she so exposed, so fragile? Where was her face, her shield, her strength? She should be stronger, she knew that. She should not feel naked and alone…

"I know…that we have a purpose here. I know your voice," Aurantha said slowly, no longer anxious but merely confused. The landscape became darker. "It was all so clear…"

"It all feels so familiar," the tall man agreed, his eyes closed and his face scrunched like he was trying to remember a dream. Around them, the terrain began to grow blurry, as if there was no way to focus their eyes. "This feeling, as if…"

"As if it IS familiar," the Lilty man added, as the darkness swirled around them.

"No," the Selkie said, clutching her head, before releasing a wild screech that seemed to halt the swirling void around them for a blink of an eye. "This – s'not real! Don't yeh remember, Lady? Dammit, remember! _Wake up!"_

_This is only a corrupted shard of your memory. Do not let it overcome you._

There it was – the last thing she could see before the darkness swallowed everything. A glint of metal, it radiated comfort and protection. Grabbing the sallet, she felt a spark of warmth within, even as she was consumed.

.

.

.

A vast desert stretched before them, endless dunes of sand sparkling in the harsh sun. This would be where they hid the key. The three survivors looked grimly before them, knowing that there was no better place. It was remote and inhospitable, yet completely unforgettable. The birth of a life tree insured that. This was the home of the Selkies, their first home. Deep in the desert, a sign was carved against the rocks above a pool that flowed in from the ocean, a glyph of a creature stepping from the water and shedding its beastly skin. This was the birthplace of their people. At the cove, settlers were already arriving, never knowing that this place they thought of as a temporary haven was their one true home – it called to them, even if they did not understand why.

No one was left to carry on the memory of that time, but the life tree stood as a silent guardian of the past, sheltered in its cool cave.

"The key shall be sealed with the four elements: fire, water, wind, and earth. In spell form, they are activated by flame, chill, lightning and gravity. They must be arranged according to the places where the poison's grasp is weakest, places where the crystal's energy once flowed strongly…and then, in the wellspring, plant the final seed, the golden light born of the four elements." Terrand whispered, reading his carefully documented notes.

"And where they can be found, if one knows to search," Geirr added. "How in the blazes are we supposed to know where the crystal's energy flowed, without…?"

Izha Lul snorted, and led them onward.

"By th' smell, Red. Smell the fresh air. Can't hardly smell fresh air anyplace on Earth anymore, not if yeh don't want a lung full a' death," she said, squinting as she peered out into the desert.

"There are cities, you know. As long as they find more of those life trees, or if the life trees can indeed give more than one memory drop, the cities should remain breathable until we can defeat him," Terrand said, still peering at his notes.

"Said fresh air, didn't I? Can't find no fresh air in a city. Here, though…somethin' here feels right. T' me at least."

The three grim figures walked on silently, having exhausted all energy – physical or emotional – for talking.

The four of them stood before their enemy, a swirling dark figure without form or definition, save for a golden spark that glittered at its core. One by one, her companions were swallowed by the darkness, and it rose up to devour her as well.

**You cannot kill me. **

"No, we cannot. I do not believe any mortal could."

**Then what is your plan, o Seer? How will you defeat me?**

"I will not."

** Splendid. I think I will enjoy this new world of mine. I find I like the taste of the fear of its people, of the chaos my birth has brought. I think that your memories shall be even sweeter. **

"You will never have them."

**Oh, really? And why not?**

"You cannot take them because I have already given them away of my own will."

.

.

.

A young man from a small town aspired to be great. With a love of reading and a passion for knowledge, he booked passage with the Crystal Caravans, studying the old archives of Shella, browsing the grand libraries of Alfitaria. Years of prejudice between the two cities, old grudges that never quite faded, meant that he was one of the few to ever read from both sources. He was the first to put together a complete copy of an ancient manuscript titled "Light of the Great Crystal," a collection by a little-known ancient poet named Terrand.

_Life of light, live on o flower_

_Golden, golden as the sun_

_Sacred light begets your blossom_

_Sacred light that leads us on_

_Bloom, o bloom, my friend, o flower_

_Light the path that they may see_

_Awaken them when they've forgotten_

_Sacred flower, reveal the key_

He knew the way would be dangerous, so he hired a bodyguard. There were few warriors in the Alfitarian Guard more skilled than Leon Esla. The Lilty was proud, saying that the quest they were on would make his name live on forever, and his infant son would wear the name with that same pride.

.

.

.

Aurantha was gone. Her body lay on the ground, still and silent. The tunnel of wind and miasma howled and raged around them, but they couldn't feel its sting.

"_The Carbuncles will help you. They have always been known for their long memories and wise words. When the time is right, and this door is opened, they will wait on the other side," she had said, but they couldn't listen, not after what she had said before._

"_There is no reason for this, this insanity!" Terrand shouted, his glasses nearly sliding off his nose in his ire. _

"_I was hired to protect you, Lady – how in the blazes can you ask me to go along with this?" Geirr growled, for once agreeing with Terrand completely. _

_She turned away. _

"_The five crystals left here will be forever tied to the five you take with you. Fire, Water, Wind, and Earth – they shall bind themselves to the final element, Light," she said. "Once, that would have been enough…but the chain is broken, and the memories that guided us in the past are lost with the Great Crystal. The towns have all felt this, for their crystals cannot help but fade and die without that cycle to power them. For this key and lock to survive the test of time, it too must have a cycle – it too must become alive with living memories."_

"_Well, why can't we just use the nectar of those life trees? Didn't they say that they would bring life back to dying crystals?" Terrand demanded. _

"_That is a temporary solution, treating the symptom but not the cause of this disease. What would be the point of hiding this place if you were to return to it, again and again, till your descendants had to replace you in your duty? Even if that solution was feasible, it would not work. Where would my memories go, if I were to wait until my aged body surrendered at last? The cycle is broken, and my memories would wander, lost. To return the cycle to what it once was, the memory of that cycle must be renewed. I remember. I felt the flow of energy. I saw the past and future alike, a swirl of memories already made and those yet to be spun. It was…more beautiful than words can say. I _must_ restore that flow. With my memories I must bind the lock and the key until the time is correct, and the world is reborn in light, the way it once was. It is not an ending, for I will survive in the flicker of the crystal, and in the memories you carry with you."_

_There was more noise, more argument. Izha Lul looked at the mountain, and at the golden crystal they had salvaged._

_Silently, she pushed the men aside and placed the crystal in Aurantha's hands._

"_We'll see it done," she whispered, and felt the ocean's siren call._

.

.

.

_In the end shall bloom a flower_

_Sacred Light reveals its power_

She dreamed; her golden memories alive in the crystal seeds, buried before the heart of corruption and beneath sparkling sand in a desert where the miasma was thin.

She dreamed of eight youthful souls, with memories that were warm and gentle as hers had been. They were not yet ready.

Years passed, but they were as of nothing, for her memories were timeless in the crystal's heart. The eight souls had grown, and she saw what the world did not: their memories were brighter. Rather than fading with time, they shone brighter. She did not know what spark had formed within them, why they would the ones to break the cycle of corruption, though ages had passed since the meteor fell, though so many promising souls had come before them.

When the time grew near, she felt it within them. They had walked the same roads as the travelers had for centuries, gone to the same old paths and places as a thousand Myrrh-seekers had before, these eight had something within them that no Caravanners had before: hope. They had grown up in this world, ravaged and twisted as it was, thinking that the path they followed was the natural way of things. Such time had passed that the very idea of a world without Miasma, where Crystals shone bright with memories and there was no need for such a dangerous quest as Myrrh-seeking was little more than a dream, a fanciful tale to tell children. None believed such a thing, for no one could remember such a thing. Those memories were lost to the world, memories of the cycle unbroken.

That did not stop these brave souls from hoping, and hope was the fuel that made their memories burn brighter with every year.

Izha Lul lead the three to the desert.

Terrand's writings left the proper clues.

Geirr had brought the clues to the great libraries.

On the island where the sand sparkled and the fresh ocean breeze fought against the thick clouds of Miasma, a Golden Flower - _Aurantha_ - was buried.

And the cycle was made complete when those eight stood before the lock, and raised their golden chalice high.


End file.
